


Hell Was Made In Heaven

by Spruce_Moose (Duckyboos)



Series: The Damnation Game [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Angst, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean, Breathplay, Fluff, Guns, Librarian Castiel, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Murder, Possessive Castiel, Possessive Dean, Rough Sex, Snarky Castiel, Tattoos, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Spruce_Moose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jesus Christ boy. What the fuck happened to you two?”<br/>“Alistair happened, Bobby.”</p><p>It’s six months after Castiel was captured by the Angels and tortured by Alistair. He and Dean are closer than ever – choosing to take their pain out on each other – rather than facing the reality of what they both went through at the hands of Zachariah’s pet psychopath.<br/>They become so fixated on each other that both friends and enemies alike start to take notice, and if they’re not careful, their obsession is going to end up costing them both everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - I Need You

**Author's Note:**

> Fic Title is a Helloween song.  
> Chapter title is a Lynyrd Skynyrd song.
> 
> So... I wrote and rewrote this chapter a good six or seven times. And each time it came out ridiculously dark. Eventually though, I got there, so here it is!  
> I'll try to update most nights like last time, but we'll have to see how that goes.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for all your comments and Kudos on the previous one.  
> You are a bunch of legends.

Castiel knew that he was lucky to escape from Alistair’s clutches with his life and surprisingly little physical evidence of the torture he’d endured; six months on the scar tissue was only just starting to turn silver on some of the deeper wounds on his stomach, but thankfully, the burns had healed up well-enough, only leaving a few faded white marks on his arms.

That didn’t change the fact that the emotional scars ran pretty deep by comparison. He still had days where all he wanted to do was punch something or _someone_ and Dean bore the brunt of Castiel’s temper willingly. He’d barely respond – mostly just to defend himself – letting Cas hurt him with his words and fists, until Cas would end up storming away – smashing things in his wake – comparable to a petulant child.

It was like Dean understood why Cas was being this way, like he _deserved_ the anger and abuse.

It bothered Castiel.

He didn’t want some watered-down version of the LMC leader; he wanted _his_ _Dean._ The guy who had killed for him; the guy who had threatened some asshole in front of an entire bar for trying to hurt Cas; the guy who would have given his life in exchange for Cas’s. He wanted the Dean who had ordered him around and bickered with him about how stubborn he was. But yet, in any argument or confrontation, he seemed totally impassive, like he was handling Cas with care as if he were some fragile thing that could shatter into pieces at any moment.

Castiel was _strong_. Hadn’t he proven that with his resilience at the hands of Alistair? He may have been physically weak in that warehouse, but he’d never given out psychologically. Nor would he.

He _needed_ Dean to be rough with him; to argue back, punch back, to treat him like he wasn’t damaged goods.

Even though he was.

It took a long time, but it finally happened.

The night it did, Castiel had been especially cruel and Dean finally snapped, embedding a bullet in the wall so close to Castiel’s head that he swore he _felt_ it. It was a stark reminder of who Dean Winchester was – _what_ he was – and Cas had loved every second of the vicious fucking that he’d got amongst the wreckage and shattered glass of their front room afterwards.

After that, the flood gates opened and it rapidly escalated; becoming almost cathartic for them to tear at each other, to be as brutal as possible, seeing who would come apart first. It was more like waging war than having sex; as if they were both trying to win at being the most sadistic.

It was twisted and sick, but neither of them had a better way of dealing with their emotions; fighting and fucking were easier than sitting down and talking about things in an adult manner. And it wasn’t like anyone else would even come _close_ to understanding. It was the two of them against the world.

They kept each other human.

Outwardly, aside from the occasional black eye, rope-burned wrists and bad back, nothing seemed wrong. They still laughed with one another, went on dates whenever they could and had the mornings together in bed that Castiel had always loved so much.

Dean even took the time out to teach Cas to ride and bought him a bike for his birthday back in August. They’d gone to the Harley dealership a few weeks prior to his 31st and Dean had rubbished every bike, telling Cas that _‘Harley’s are for pussies, just ask Sam!’_. It therefore, had been doubly satisfying when Castiel told Dean that the bike he wanted was the Harley Iron 883, which was sleek, sexy and oh so much cooler than Dean’s own Triumph Thunderbird.

The same Thunderbird that Dean had worked tirelessly on to fix after it got completely demolished by Zachariah’s henchmen during his rescue of Castiel. Some days Cas couldn’t figure out who was more at fault for the whole thing; himself for being so headstrong; Dean for keeping him in the dark or Alistair for being such a fucking lunatic.

And on the days that he leaned towards it being himself or Dean? Well, they were the days that one or both of them ended up with cuts and bruises.

 

***

 

“I swear, if you don’t stop fidgeting, I will end you, Winchester.”

Dean snorted gracelessly. “No you won’t. If you were gonna kill me, you would have done it already.”

Castiel raised a sceptical brow. “Don’t fucking bet on it.” He finished the knot on the red tie and patted it as he stepped away to inspect his work.

Dean held his arms out to the sides and looked down at himself, then back to Castiel, his trademark cocky grin in place. “I look good, right Cas?”

Good was a serious understatement; Dean looked _hot as fuck._ And he knew it. Castiel had insisted on Dean growing his hair out, so that it was long enough for him to get a really good grip on when they had sex – which Dean totally went crazy for – so now without any gel in it, it flopped into his eyes adorably, definitely taking the bite out of the fact that he was wearing a gun holster underneath his black suit jacket. And his ass in those trousers? Perfect.

“Meh,” He smirked, “You’ll do.”

“You reckon I’m gonna upstage the Groom tomorrow?”

“Ohh, I dunno. Sam is quite dishy in his Tux…”

Dean shook his head sadly. “If I wasn’t the better looking brother, I’d swear you have a thing for Sam.”

Castiel reached out for Dean, grabbing the lapel of his jacket and pulled him close.

“Only you Dean,” He murmured against his lips, enjoying the other man’s thick swallow and his eyes darkening just a fraction. He loved the rush of being able to craft a reaction like that in someone like Dean. It made him feel powerful which was a direct contrast to how he’d felt at the hands of Alistair. Everything Dean did as a result of Cas’s manipulation made him feel dominant, like he had tamed the irrepressible Dean Winchester.

It made him feel as strong as he thought Dean himself was.

“Likewise Cas,” Dean flashed him a quick smile, before glancing at the clock on the ostentatious TV that neither of them had dared to touch since their arrival about thirty minutes previously.

They were staying in the hotel in Kansas City that both the ceremony and reception were actually happening in; it was a swanky place that Amelia had chosen – Sam of course had just nodded and gone along with it – which was all marble floors and velvet curtains. Needless to say, the vast majority of the MC were feeling slightly out of place.

“Where’s this club that we’re supposed to be going to?”

“Uh,” Dean reached behind his boyfriend, gripping Cas’s own suit jacket in his hand for balance – refusing to let go – to grab his phone off the nightstand and check for the texted directions from Sam. They’d arrived after everyone else; Cas having had to work late, ‘cause his newbie couldn’t come in and now that he was the manager he wasn’t really able to just phone in sick whenever he felt like it.

Which was both a blessing and a curse. Unquestionably a curse on the rare mornings that Dean had free from both the Club and the Yard.

Dean’s brow furrowed in concentration as he scanned the message. “It’s a couple of blocks away, though Sam is shit with directions,” he slid the phone into his inside pocket and nuzzled his boyfriend’s neck, placing a kiss just below his ear, making Castiel suppress a shudder. “Can’t we just stay here all night and grab some food?”

Castiel chuckled good-naturedly. “No, we cannot. It’s your brother’s night and he needs you there.”

Dean looked at him then, his green eyes bright and happy, and Castiel felt such a rush of affection for the man who was currently wrapped around him protectively. “I love you Dean.”

Dean didn’t miss a beat and his whole face softened when he replied. “I love you too, Cas.”

Castiel’s heart flipped, just like it did whenever Dean said those words to him. “Really?” He always had trouble believing it. He was so broken, so flawed, especially after Alistair, and Dean was so incredibly tough by comparison. Most of the time he just didn’t get what Dean saw in him anymore.

“Of course.” Dean pulled away from the embrace. “Though maybe I’m feeling all romantic and lovey dovey ‘cause of my little brothers impending nuptials. Ask me after this weekend. It’s probably some kind of sympathy love, you know, like how men get pregnancy symptoms when their wives are up the duff.”

Castiel punched him weakly on the arm. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Dean threw him a cheeky wink, “Buuuuuut you love me.”

“I’m beginning to rethink my stance on that.”

“Nope, no take backs!”

***

Sam was aware that Dean and Cas fought sometimes – he’d have to be blind not to see the scratches and bruises that Dean seemed to sport once or twice a month – and probably assumed that Cas was struggling under the knowledge of what Alistair was capable of and had done, but Sammy had no idea how _twisted_ Dean and Cas had gotten with each other. Dean was happy to keep it that way. He wasn’t sure he could take one of his brother’s lectures about how insane their method of catharsis was.

At first, Dean had been happy to let Cas rant and rail at him, let him get all the hurt and resentment out. If it meant that Dean got a few bruises, then so be it; it was his fault that Cas was taken and tortured after all, but then it wasn’t enough. Cas wanted more from Dean, wanted Dean to show how much he was hurting too, wanted them to fall over the edge together.

And it had felt good when he finally let go – _Really good_ –just to lose himself in Castiel’s body until both of them were sore and bloody, until they forgot everything except what one another’s skin tasted like.

It was a far cry from the cute twink in the Roadhouse’s parking lot who had fainted at the sight of some blood and pain.

Dean wasn’t deluded – he knew it was fucked up, but since he’d finally given in to Cas, he hadn’t been able to stop – it was as if Cas had unlocked a part of himself that he hadn’t been aware even existed, and it was such an addictive rush – sometimes he would even instigate fights about something small and unimportant, just so that they could both get their release.

However, tonight, both he and Cas had sworn to be on their best behaviour. This was Sammy’s night and he wasn’t going to be the one to take the shine off it for him. Even though hot bathroom sex with his even hotter librarian would have been quite possibly one of the best things to ever happen to him.

Dean turned his head to look at his brother, kind of aggrieved that he was stopping him from getting laid right now. “Got any pre-wedding jitters Samantha? Worried about what your first time is gonna be like?”

The two of them were leaning against the bar, keeping an eye on the guys throwing themselves around the dance floor doing the Macarena, which in itself was the worth the trip to Kansas City. Garth seemed to be especially talented at it which was… unsurprising, but still disconcerting.

The place was relatively classy for a club – hence the stupid monkey suits that Sam insisted they all wear – the music was low enough that you could talk without having to shout – but still loud enough to be danced to –  the walls were decorated in a rich red and the drinks were overpriced and way too posh for Dean’s taste. He was making the effort though, currently glugging his way through some very expensive exotic-sounding beer.

And not a damn stripper in sight.

It was an extremely tame stag do by all accounts.

Cas was sitting at one of the tables that was situated around the outskirts of the room, talking to Benny, and every so often he’d glance across at Dean with a smile that made Dean’s heart constrict in his chest.

_I am so fucked._

Sam gave Dean a weary glance and rolled his eyes.

Dean laughed and pressed on, enjoying his little brother’s annoyance in his general direction. It wasn’t often that he got to wind him up anymore, so he was going to take every opportunity, like the mature 29-year-old he was (but totally wasn’t). “I mean, you _are_ a virgin right? ‘Cause if you’re not, you can’t wear that pretty white dress tomorrow.”

 “Funny Dean.” Sam heaved a long-suffering-man-my-brother-is-such-an-asshole sigh. “But, no not really,” He sipped at his beer – from a glass, no less – and then set it back down on the bar. “Amelia and I have been together so long now, y’know? It feels right. It feels like natural progression. We’re soul mates and I can’t imagine my life without her.”

Dean knew; he totally got it. He’d never bought into the whole idea of soul mates before Cas, but now, as he watched the man tilting his head back in a laugh at something Benny was saying, he knew that if he ever lost Cas – like he almost had – he wouldn’t recover. The rest of his life would be played out in shades of grey; the only splotches of colour would be in his memories of their time together.

And wasn’t that just ridiculously pathetic.

He’d never _needed_ someone like he did with Cas before; sure, he’d felt like he _wanted_ someone during sex, but when his orgasm faded, so too did the desire.

That never happened with his blue-eyed librarian. If anything, it got worse; an itch he _had_ to scratch as soon as he even looked at the guy. Like now; he could feel a solid buzzing just under his skin. It was a steadily growing obsession, and the best thing? It was definitely reciprocated.

“Yeah, I hear you Sammy.”

Sam turned his whole body to face Dean, a look of concern etched on his face, “Are you and Cas okay?” He gestured vacantly with his hand, as if searching for the right way to phrase it that wouldn’t end up with his big brother's fist in his face. “You know since… I mean we’ve been kinda busy since then what with the deals with Crowley and-“

Dean held up his hand, cutting Sam off. “Man, you know I don’t wanna talk about this shit. Cas and I are good. We’re dealing with stuff in our own way.”

They fell into silence as they caught sight of Benny weaving his way through the crowds towards them. He was looking pretty debonair in his suit; every inch a sophisticated gentleman rather than the weapons expert of a violent outlaw biker gang.

“Hey brother, we’re all set for the deal tomorrow. Just had a word with one of Crowley’s guys. They’re bringing the guns in one of the catering trucks. Here’s the license plate.” He passed Dean a post-it with the digits on.

“Thanks Benny,” He clapped him on the shoulder with one hand as he slid the square of paper into the front left pocket of his trousers with the other. “So, during the reception, you Rufus and Bobby are cool with unloading them onto our truck?”

“Of course. It’ll take no time at all.”

Sam looked between them, his features pulled into what Dean called his bitchface special. “I still can’t believe we’re doing this at my _wedding._ ”

“Hey man,” Dean smirked, shrugging helplessly. ”You voted it in too.”

“If Amelia knew, she’d have my balls.” Sam grumbled, more to himself than the other two, taking another drink and screwing his face up in distaste. Dean had to agree with that assessment of the beer; expensive or not, it was fucking awful.

“She already does, doesn’t she?” Dean joked. “Keeps ‘em in that pretty purple handbag of hers?”

Sam scoffed, blushing faintly. “You’re one to talk Dean.” He shot back, sounding exactly like the little kid brother that Dean mostly still saw him as. “You’ve been owned by Cas since he challenged you about your views on Bert and Ernie.”

He wasn’t wrong there. Sad thing was, the little asshole still didn’t agree with him.

_And speaking of assholes…_

In the space that Benny had vacated was a ludicrously attractive man in a snappy looking suit, all slicked back hair and new money, talking to Cas like he was the only person in the room. Dean could _feel_ himself bristling and he was having severe trouble repressing the urge to barrel over there, shoot the guy in the head and screw Cas into the floor.

Cas would probably kick his ass if he did, but it would be worth it. Angry sex with Cas had always been awesome, but now it was something else entirely.

_Something entirely awesome._

The main thing stopping him was Sam. He was supposed to be reining himself in tonight and acting the part of proud big brother even though Sam had to be about 10 times his size and his maturity levels were just _a pinch_ above Dean’s.

The slick douchebag put his hand on Cas’s knee and Dean’s decision was made.

_Maybe more than a pinch._

He shucked off his suit jacket, being careful to remove his holster before anyone could see that he was carrying and start panicking, as people tended to do when faced with an outlaw and a weapon in the same room. He handed them off to Sammy – who was watching him with a mixture of amusement and thinly veiled concern – and then unbuttoned the cuffs of his black shirt, rolling the sleeves up past his elbows.

He lifted his pint glass to his lips and finished the half left in one go, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Be right back,” He shot them a grin and then he was off to save his asshole boyfriend from the douchebag currently leaning far too much into his personal space.

***

“And then I was in the Caribbean…”

Castiel wasn’t listening, wasn’t even remotely interested in what the spoiled rich kid was bragging about. He was far too busy watching – staring at – Dean stalking across the dance floor towards him like he owned the place. He looked magnificent, and when he came to a standstill behind the guy, he folded his exposed and recently tattooed forearms across his broad chest, his green eyes hard and unreadable.

“Everything okay?”

The man – Neil, Cas thought – stopped his pointless chatter and turned around in his seat to see who was so rudely interrupting his wickedly interesting tale about how well-off he was.

“Can we help you?” Already Castiel didn’t like his tone; the kid sounded snotty and pointlessly so, being as Dean just about outstripped him in every field.

“I don’t know,” Dean said, a corner of his mouth tilting up in a small – dangerous – smile. “You're the one hitting on my boyfriend, so you tell me.”

Castiel’s stomach fluttered when Dean called him his boyfriend. It was something that he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to. Even though he lived with Dean now, and they had been through so much together, it still seemed like the wrong word for what they had, but no less wonderful to hear coming from Dean’s mouth.

Neil turned back and raised his eyebrows at Castiel in disbelief.  “You’re with this guy?”

Castiel scowled. Why the incredulity? Dean was both stunningly attractive and brave and loyal and all the things that this prick probably wasn’t. Who the fuck did he think he was, insulting his Dean?

“Yes,” Cas confirmed proudly, looking up at Dean affectionately. “This is Dean Winchester. Dean, this is some asshole whose name I can’t remember because I was too busy fantasizing about ripping your clothes off and riding you on the bar.”

Cas was pretty sure that Dean had never looked more impressed or proud to be with Cas than he did in that moment.

“What?” The guy spluttered comically, mouth agape, staring at Castiel, before realisation dawned. “Wait, _The_ Dean Winchester?”

Dean smiled beatifically. “So you’ve heard of me? Well that makes things easier. I’ll keep this threat concise then. Fuck off or I’ll kick your teeth in, asshole.”

Neil’s eyes widened as he looked from Dean to Cas, and then he was scampering off, not daring to look back.

Dean thumped down next to Cas on the comfy cushioned bench seat, slinging his arm across the back and around Cas’s shoulders.

“How does it feel to be with someone famous Cas? Is it everything you’d ever dreamed?”

“You really have to stop doing that,” Castiel chided, but there was no bite to his words. He pressed in closer, snuggling into his boyfriend’s shirt, inhaling _Dean._ It always made him feel safe, no matter whether they were just hugging like now or fighting or fucking.

“Yeah, ‘cause you positively throwing yourself at me right now is really making me want to stop with the – what was it you once called it – ‘ridiculous hyper masculine display?’”

“You’re still ridiculous. And hyper masculine. _And_ you behaved like a total Neanderthal on the eve of your brother’s wedding.” Castiel’s voice was muffled by the fabric of Dean’s shirt collar.

“Your point?” Dean sounded way too pleased with himself. Cas was certain that if he looked up, Dean would be grinning at him as if he’d just won the fucking lottery. Or a lifetime’s supply of pie.

“My point is that if we weren’t supposed to be acting like normal human beings then I would have laid you the fuck out, you possessive bastard.”

Dean scoffed playfully. “Sure Cas, as if you could.”

Castiel looked up at him, hand on Dean’s chest, narrowing his eyes. “You think I can’t take you?”

“No Cas, I _know_ you can take me,” His grin was filthy, innuendo-laden, just the way Cas had grown to love. “But I don’t think you’d beat me in a fight.”

Castiel conceded that. Dean had been getting into street brawls before he’d even hit puberty. It didn’t mean that Castiel was at a loss for a comeback though. “You’re still an asshole.”

_Good job. That sure told him._

“Yeah and _you_ still love me.”

“And you love me?” Castiel asked, always wary of the answer, despite Dean’s constant reassurances.

“You need to ask?”

At Castiel’s hesitance, Dean leaned close to Castiel and used his thumb and forefinger to tilt Cas’s chin up to face him, pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss that was so at odds with who Dean _was_ that it took Castiel a few seconds to respond.

“I have it on good authority from Cher that it’s in his kiss.” Dean murmured by way of explanation, as he pulled away, his lips curved into a sultry smile that never failed to make Cas’s heart pound against his ribcage.

Castiel’s face split into a grin, and he shook his head fondly. “Jackass.”


	2. Chapter Two - Wild Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a W.A.S.P. song.  
> Well, this chapter is pretty much pure fluff; sickly candy flossy fluff. 
> 
> Enjoy it while it lasts!  
> *Cue evil laugh*.

 

“Nice do you’ve got going on here Rocky. Any cake for me?” Crowley was standing next to the buffet table eyeing up the very expensive green-and-yellow-icing-covered abomination that Dean had been the one to pay for.  At least he was dressed for the occasion, though Dean was pretty sure that he’d never seen the man in anything other than a suit.

“If the guns are legitimate then I’ll consider it.” He muttered, glancing around the lavishly decorated room. Amelia and Sam were sitting at the head table, looking so charmingly in love that it would have made Dean feel queasy if he weren’t in the exact same state himself. Cas was sitting at the same table, an empty space next to him where Dean should be _right fucking now_ – instead, he was keeping an eye out to make sure that Crowley wasn’t trying to con them. Though they were tentative business partners now, Dean still trusted the limey bastard about as far as he could throw him.

Dean’s eyes lingered on his boyfriend who – judging by the intense looks on both of their faces – was talking to Andrea about something deep. He was dressed in the same suit as last night, looking like everything Dean had ever fantasized about, with his striking blue eyes and artfully mussed dark bed hair.

“Oh Squirrel, I do love it when you play hardball.” Crowley grinned, following Dean’s line of sight and added, “Makes me all tingly right where my bathing suit goes.”

Dean screwed his eyes shut tightly. Jesus, he could have done without that image.

_Talk about a boner killer._

He smiled sardonically. “Thanks for that Crowley.”

“Anytime Dean. I thought you could do with a figurative bucket of water being as a literal one would ruin your pretty suit.”

Dean just glowered at the arrogant bastard when Garth suddenly appeared by his elbow, dressed in a powder blue suit and a cowboy hat. Bizarrely, it kind of suited him.

“Benny told me to tell you that they’re about finished with loading the cargo up, Prez. All looks good. Some great quality AK’s, MP5’s and AR-15’s.”

Dean nodded, “Cheers man. Tell them to shift it on home. I’ll be there soon as I’ve done my bit to embarrass Sammy with my best man speech.”

He turned to Crowley who was looking at him expectantly.

“Do I get that cake now?”

***

“Well, that was surprisingly uneventful,” Dean muttered, pressing fingers to his temples in an attempt to quell the headache that was threatening to spill over. They were home again and he was in his boxers, sitting on the edge of their bed - knees on his elbows - whilst Cas flitted about, hanging their suits up in the wardrobe.

“What were you expecting?” Castiel asked and Dean felt the bed dip behind him signalling that Cas had climbed in.

“I don’t know,” He admitted, standing up, pulling the covers back and sliding in between the cool sheets. He laid his arm flat out across the pillows in an unspoken invitation for his boyfriend to cuddle up to him and Cas immediately shuffled closer, laying his head on Dean’s inked chest, his hair tickling the bigger man, making him squirm. Dean wrapped his arm around Cas’s shoulders and kissed his forehead. It was all almost automatic by now.

“Some kind of shit though. It was almost too quiet, y’know? Nothing ever goes off without a hitch like that. Not for us.”

Castiel nodded a little, his stubble scraping against Dean’s skin. “I know what you mean. But maybe for once it really was okay? Did it occur to you that you’re looking for problems where there are none?”

“Maybe,” Dean sighed. He looked down at the top of Cas’s head and then up to the ceiling. He’d have to get the room redecorated. Lisa had chosen the colours years ago. “You okay baby?”

“Yeah,” Castiel mumbled, sliding his knee between Dean’s thighs. “Was a nice ceremony. Amelia looked beautiful.”

Dean made a vague noise of assent. “I still think Sammy would’ve looked better in that dress.”

Castiel snorted a laugh. “Harsh, Dean, harsh. When are they going on their honeymoon?”

“I dunno. Sam hasn’t asked for any time off, so I’m not sure what’s going on there.” Dean began running his fingertips along Cas’s back, drawing light circles on his skin.

“I’m surprised Amelia hasn’t demanded one to be honest.”

It suddenly struck Dean with the force of a ten-tonne truck how _domestic_ this whole thing was. Lying in bed, cuddling, talking about normal people things. He may not have the white picket fence, but he could live without that so long as he always had Castiel. In fact, he was pretty sure that he could live with _anything_ as long as he had Cas. He was the best of both worlds.

“She probably will. And then he’ll ask for some time and I’ll tell him no.” He grinned at the thought; another prime opportunity to wind his brother up.

Castiel slapped his boyfriend’s chest gently in a lazy reprimand.

“What did we get them as a wedding present by the way? I didn’t see it.”

“I didn’t tell you? Just some books that I knew Sammy wanted and I gave them some money for Amelia to spend on patterned plates or whatever it is that chicks like to spend their money on.”

He felt Castiel’s smile against his skin. “You surprise me every day Dean Winchester.”

Dean cleared his throat, “Hey now, let’s not make this into a big deal.”

“I can’t believe that I ever doubted what a truly amazing person you are.”

“Cas,” Dean warned. “Can the chick flick moment. I’m a badass who shoots people. That’s all anybody need ever know.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, Dean just enjoying being able to lie here wrapped up with Cas. Seven months ago, there was no way that he would have done anything like this.

Castiel brought out the best _and_ worst in him.

The other man ended his silence first. “Can I ask you something?”

“Oh fuck, this usually spells trouble.” Dean was only half-joking.

“Did you ever think that you weren’t going to get me out alive?”

Another long silence as Dean considered his answer carefully.

“Yes,” He said slowly. “I was petrified of it actually. For the first time since I’d left prison, I was actually scared. I mean, most days I take my life in my hands by the very nature of what I do, but there’s no real _fear_ there. Not like there was when Adam told me that you’d been taken. I was so fucking afraid that I’d never see your perfect smile again, never get to kiss you again and that terrified me more than I’d admit to anyone who isn’t you. I’m not sure that I would have ever recovered if I’d lost you Cas. I would have given my life in exchange for yours if that’s what it took to keep you safe.” He paused for a split second, before adding, “Still would.”

And it was true. Completely and utterly.

He heard a muted sniffle before he felt a small amount of wetness between his chest and Cas’s face.

“Cas?” He pulled back, grabbing his boyfriend by his shoulders. “Cas baby, look at me.” His blue eyes were misty and dewy, and he looked downright miserable. ”Babe, what’s wrong?”

Castiel shook his head, using the back of his hand to wipe away the tears falling over his cheeks. “I love you Dean. With all my heart.”

Dean exhaled shakily, worry gradually ebbing away. “I love you too Castiel.”

For the first time since they’d started confessing their feelings, Cas didn’t respond to Dean’s declaration with some variation of ‘really?’

It felt like progress.

***

When Castiel woke up the next morning, he was in the bed alone, which in itself wasn’t entirely unusual. What _was_ unusual though, were the sounds of gunfire outside; they didn’t usually come until later. Most criminals seemed to value their lie-ins.

_Fuck._

He scrambled out of the bed, yanking on a pair of jeans and his boots, before swiping a t-shirt off the floor and moving down the hallway.

“Dean?” He called, searching for a weapon – any weapon – on his way through the house. He knew that there were a couple of illegal rifles wrapped in a garbage bag underneath the sink in the kitchen, but Dean didn’t want him to know where the other God-knows-how-many guns were stashed.

_Pain-in-the-ass-Dean-fuckin’-Winchester._

Benny unexpectedly materialized at the foot of the stairs, shot gun in hand, halting Castiel’s progress. “It’s okay Cas, things are under control. Go back upstairs.”

“What’s going on?” Castiel stepped onto the third-from-bottom step, looking down at the Sergeant-At-Arms who was usually taller than him. There was _no fucking way_ he was going anywhere until he knew that Dean was safe.

“Just some guys who want what’s ours.”

Castiel sighed and ran a hand through his already-messy hair. “Again?”

Benny shrugged and gave Cas a lop-sided smile. “Never stops, brother.”

He was right about that. There was barely a week that passed without some kind of incident involving a shootout or violent altercation.

He absently wondered how the good people of Lawrence felt about it. Then he remembered all the money Dean gave away.

_Definitely bribes._

And that reminded him; the Halloween fête was coming up soon. He’d promised Dean that he would find some old library books to donate to the local kids. It still amused him that the LMC had a stand every year; Sam apparently read to children, Garth did face paints, Bobby organised the races and Dean paid for and worked the fireworks. Benny and Andrea had a food stand selling their usual diner fare. Just the thought of the gruff and badass biker gang helping out the local community seemed hysterical to him.

Dean found his hilarity baffling.

“Castiel, I really have to insist that you go back upstairs.”

“And I really have to insist that you respectfully kiss my ass Benny.” He didn’t want to get into it with Benny; the guy was _huge_ and a good person to boot. He didn’t want to fall out with him. “Either you give me a goddamn gun and let me fight or… in fact, no. That’s really your only choice.”

Benny glanced behind him as if checking to make sure Dean wasn’t over his shoulder within earshot.

“Listen Cas, I have no problem with you helping out, I really don’t. I’ve seen you with a gun, brother,” He smirked. “We could use someone with your skill. But Dean wouldn’t be able to focus properly. He would end up putting himself and the club at risk in an effort to keep you out of harm’s way.”

Castiel slouched against the wall, deflated. He hadn’t thought of it like that before. It would kill him if any of the others got hurt because Dean was too busy worrying about him.

“At least give me a gun so that I can protect myself in case someone comes into the house.”

Benny seemed to think about it for a second, before reaching for his holster. He grabbed a black plasticy - looking weapon and eyed it judiciously for a moment, then switched his gaze to Cas.

“Promise me that you ain’t gonna do anything stupid.” He slapped the gun into Cas’s palm, not releasing it until he had Castiel’s reassurance.

“Today.” Castiel amended. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid _today_.”

 

***

Dean fucking knew it. He’d had a feeling that yesterday had gone off a little too smoothly and now here they were; at fucking ridiculous o’clock in the morning, in his back fucking yard, shooting at fucking douchebag motherfuckers.

_Fuckityfuckfuck._

He should be in bed with Cas.

A shot sounded directly to the left from his position of cover at the kitchen door. He fired back at the guy who was an MC grunt he didn’t recognise. The patch was vaguely familiar, but he didn’t think that they were local. The shot hit the dude square in the chest and he pitched over.

Really, he was lucky that Benny had come over to check on the merchandise after a fight with Andrea – he always liked to shoot stuff when they rowed – and so had been here when the ten or so bikes had appeared in his driveway.

Since then, he’d managed to get a hold of Garth and Rufus to come on down for backup.

“Garth, Rufus! We all clear?” He couldn’t see either of them from where he was; they’d taken the front where they’d pulled up and immediately began shooting.

“Just about!” Rufus’s voice. The sound of another shot. “Yeah, we’re good!”

Dean tucked his revolver down the back of his jeans and strode out. “Right boys, let’s make clean up quick, the cops will be on their way!”

He dropped down on his haunches next to the one he had just shot who was on his back, hand clasped over the bullet wound, erratically breathing and groaning in pain.

“Why are you here?”

He looked up at Dean, eyes venomous. “Fuck you.”

“Listen man,” Dean spread his hands wide, gesturing to the empty yard. “I have absolutely no qualms about killing you. Nobody here to stop me, so I suggest you tell me or things could get kind of rough for you.”

“Kill me,” The biker spat defiantly. “I won’t say anything.”

“As you wish.” He rose to his feet and was just reaching for his weapon again, when –

“Dean!” At the sound of Castiel calling his name, he turned his head to look where his boyfriend was running out of the kitchen door, firearm in hand.

_Who the fuck gave him the gun?_

_Benny. Goddammit._

“Not now Cas.” Dean said, waving his hand dismissively.

“No, let me try.” Castiel panted, stopping a few feet away from Dean and the man.

Dean rolled his eyes and stomped impatiently over to Cas, both of them facing side-on to the asshole on the floor, who was watching them with a confused expression, eyes clouded with fear. They stared each other down for a few seconds before Dean finally broke. He always cracked first.

“Really? Torturing and killing is your thing now? Behave Cas.”

Castiel raised his gun and shot the guy in the leg without even looking away from Dean’s face. Dean turned. The shot was maybe an inch or so below the kneecap.

_Impressive._

The guy howled in agony, sucking deep breaths in through his nose as he worked through the pain. Castiel changed the aim of the gun to the man’s groin, all the while keeping his eyes on Dean.

“Fine!” The MC member cried, gritting his teeth. “It’s Nick Pellegrino. He sent us.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. Why was that name familiar?

Then it hit him. The dude that Crowley had the two of them delivering drugs to months ago. But how the fuck –

_Crowley._

He was gonna tear that British bastard apart.

Castiel was still staring at him, a ridiculously smug smile playing on his lips.

Dean tried his best to hold his awestruck smile at bay. It didn’t work. “Yeah alright Cas. You did good. Well done. Don’t go getting cocky.”

Castiel patted him on the cheek in a way that was both slightly condescending and tender in one. “I’ve got about an hour until I’m at work. Hurry up so we can have sex before I leave.”

It was quite possible – as he watched Cas sashay away – that he’d never been so hot for anyone in his entire life.

_God-fucking-dammit._

***

Castiel smoothed a hand through his hair, trying desperately – and pointlessly – to tame it, as he took off the infernal helmet that Dean made him wear now that he had his own bike; even though the man himself was apparently too hardcore to wear one most of the time.

He knocked the kickstand out with the heel of his boot and draped the helmet over the left handlebar. It had taken a _lot_ of guilt trips to persuade Dean to teach him how to ride, especially with the injuries he’d sustained at the hands of Alistair and even when he was competent on a bike, Dean had been reluctant to let him ride it – most of the time insisting that Cas should jump on the back of his instead – and while he definitely appreciated the feeling of being pressed up against Dean on his Thunderbird, he enjoyed riding solo too.

He loved that he could just take off and go wherever – it was so liberating. He still had his car, but compared to the freedom of his bike, it felt enclosed.

The only thing he didn’t love was the looks he would get, and today was no different; a few passer-by’s on the sidewalk were glancing in his direction surreptitiously and were quite obviously putting some scenario together in their heads where he was a motorcycle hellion and/or a menace to society.

_Nope, just in a relationship with one._

He was still a quiet nerd who worked at the library – the manager now, in fact – but just because he rode a bike, people jumped to conclusions.  Though, he supposed that they weren’t wrong. He _had_ shot someone before he came into work this morning.

The look on Dean’s face had totally been worth it though.

As had the shower sex.

He unlocked the door and went in cautiously – even now he still sometimes had a mini panic attack that he was going to find another body with Alistair grinning over it or Zachariah holding a gun to his head.

So far, so good and he flipped on the lights. The phone was already ringing and he nearly tripped over a pile of books in his haste to get to it before it cut out.

“Lawrence library, Castiel speaking, how can I help?” He was stretched across the central desk on his stomach and couldn’t help but notice what an interesting position this could be if Dean was involved.

“It’s me.” Castiel relaxed. Gabriel. He began shuffling off the wooden surface, pleased that he’d had the foresight to polish it before he left for Kansas City on Saturday – he was wearing his favourite black waistcoat and jeans today, and he would have been pissed if they got ruined.

“Why are you calling me on the library phone?” He managed to knock some papers - and almost the lamp - off, swearing softly to himself as he caught it awkwardly and set it back down.

“You weren’t answering your cell.”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “I was riding in to work, wouldn’t have heard it. What’s up?”

“Nothing really. Just checking in.” He sounded like that time Castiel had caught him eating chocolates off the Christmas tree when he was twelve; suspicious and entirely guilty. “How’s that hunk of yours? Still an outlaw willing to kill anyone for looking at you sideways?”

Castiel frowned. He had no time for Gabriel’s bullshit today. “Gabriel, what the Hell are you talking about?”

“Umm.” Free of all his bluster, his brother actually sounded nervous for a change. It was making Castiel somewhat edgy. “Well, Anna told me that Balthazar was asking her how you were and what you were up to…”

Castiel screwed his eyes shut and focused on breathing calmly. “Gabe, what are you trying to tell me?” Though he was already pretty damn sure what Gabriel was getting at.

“Well, long story short, he’s got it into his head that he wants you back. Like he’s even got a chance,” He scoffed softly and Cas managed a small smile. Gabriel adored Dean almost as much as he did. “So he’s err… he’s on his way.”

 _Oh._ This was not good.

_Fuckfuckfuck._


	3. Chapter Three - Bed Of Nails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is an Alice Cooper song. It's awesome and stupidly appropriate for the second half of this chapter.  
> So yeah... this chapter is about 50% porn, 30% swearing, 20% snark and 100% Dean being a complete knob-end.
> 
> Warnings for extremely dangerous breath control play.

 

“You look like hammered shit, boy.” Bobby chuckled and the others chorused their agreement, as they all looked at Dean from their seats around the boardroom table, waiting to hear from him what had happened this morning.

It had been relatively easy to make the whole thing go away with the cops; a few greased palms and a vague promise of it not happening again. If they got the right officers that was all any ‘disturbance’ ever needed. It was a small mercy; one that Dean was inherently thankful for all the time, but especially earlier this morning.

“Yeah, well. I was dragged out of bed this morning by some guys working for a man named Pellegrino who wanted our guns, so excuse me if I’m not my usual radiant self.”

Sam shot his brother a panicked look at the familiar name. Dean shrugged in response. They had to tell the club. There was no way that they would get through this by withholding information. It had gone on long enough anyway; he never liked keeping stuff from the guys, no matter how big or small.

“Do we know who this Pellegrino guy is?” Benny asked, looking to the others as well. “I mean, have we ever had any kind of problems or dealings with him before?”

Dean sighed and leaned forwards, resting his chin on steepled fingers. “Yeah, we have.”

He hesitated, exchanging another heavy look with his VP before continuing. “Sammy and I delivered something to him for Crowley back when we were having the shit with the Angels.”

“What did you deliver?” Bobby asked very slowly – menacingly – eyes fixed on Dean.

With the way he was looking at him, Dean would be lucky if the old man didn’t bend him over in front of everyone and spank him – and not in the good way either.

“Drugs.” Sam intervened. “Crowley thought he was going to get caught in the crossfire between us and the Angels so we did it for him.”

There was a brief pause as everyone let the information soak in.

“In exchange for what?” Rufus didn’t sound any more impressed than Bobby looked.

“The information he gave us on the Angels.” Dean replied, waiting for it all to kick off. It was inevitable. “I’m sorry we lied to you guys, but it wasn’t especially important and we didn’t-“

“Not important?” Bobby slowly rose from his chair. “Not fucking important? Goddammit Dean!” He picked up the beer bottle to his right and threw it at the wall opposite, the glass smashing and beads of liquid flying everywhere.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Dean?” Benny was looking at him like a kicked puppy - which was far worse than Bobby’s reaction. Dean winced at his tone. He could deal with people being angry, but people – his best friend, especially – being _disappointed_? “Because like I said, it wasn’t important. It didn’t affect anything, so-“

“Well apparently it did,” Garth mumbled, and everyone else stilled and turned to look at him. “I mean, that was probably the first time he caught wind of us, right? Otherwise surely we would have stayed off his radar.”

Dean thought back to the exchange – they’d been in a hurry back, but Nick had seemed very friendly with Sam, if he remembered it correctly. At the time he’d mistaken it for attraction, but now? Now he was realising that it was almost certainly something entirely different.

“He did seem overly chatty with Sam.” Dean groaned.

Goddammit, he was such a fucking idiot.

“You stupid sonofabitch!” Bobby yelled, moving around the table, past Sam to shout in his face. “What is it with you Dean? When do you ever having your fucking head screwed on straight these days? I swear, ever since that Novak kid-“

Dean was on his feet in seconds, fists clenched and glowering at the man who had raised him, the man he had so much love and – usually – respect for. He towered over him and had to rein his temper in as he said as calmly and lowly as possible:

“You fucking dare Bobby. You fucking dare say one damn thing about Cas and paternal love or not, I _will_ lay you in the fucking ground. Are we clear?”

Everyone fell silent. Cas was one of his hard limits – they all knew better than to bring him up in the boardroom unless it was to rag on Dean about how whipped he was.

Every decision Dean had made in the last 7 months was because he’d thought he was doing the right thing for his family; his club. It was nothing to do with Cas and for Bobby to even think it, was insulting. Castiel was in no way at fault for any of Dean’s flaws and under no circumstances would he have anyone insinuating otherwise.

He took responsibility for his own shit.

“Crystal.” Bobby replied, anger still evident as he looked at Dean as if he were some kind of monster.

“Dean-“

“Don’t Sam. I’m going to work. I can’t do this right now.”

 

 

***

Two hours.  Two goddamn hours. That’s all it had taken after the phone call with his brother – the whole time which Castiel had spent freaking out – before Balthazar had shown his still handsome (unfortunately, being as Castiel was partial to a bit of schadenfreude when it came to exes) face at the library.

At the time, Cas was busy internally debating whether he should tell Dean and risk Balthazar getting beaten with a tire-iron or not telling Dean and risk Balthazar getting _dead_. It was indeed a conundrum. Thankfully – or not – the man himself had chosen that moment to waltz in, dressed in a stupidly low grey V-neck and black blazer. So, okay, he looked good with his carefully styled blond hair and vibrant blue eyes, but it didn’t change the fact that Castiel was a different person from the one that Balthazar remembered walking out – well, cheating – on.

He’d agreed to a drink with his ex-boyfriend solely on the logic that if he closed the library up early, humoured his ex – but made it perfectly clear he wasn’t interested – that Dean would be none the wiser about his little pointless visit. Balthazar would be long gone by the time Dean finished work in – he glanced up at the clock behind the Roadhouse’s bar – three and a bit hours.

In theory it was a great idea, in practice… well Castiel had forgotten just how tenacious Balthazar could be when he wanted something, and at the moment he was determined that he wanted Castiel, so he wasn’t budging, despite the repeated knockbacks.

“My my, Castiel, Kansas certainly seems to agree with you; you look outstanding. He gestured to Cas’s attire. “That tie and waistcoat together…Wow.”

Castiel threw him a withering look over his beer bottle. ”Spare me the bullshit flattery Balthazar.”

The man looked visibly taken aback by Castiel’s attitude. He supposed that he probably had been quieter when he was with him; more reserved. And that was how he’d ended up going to multiple dull art galleries and buying that hideous couch that he and Dean had taken great joy in having a sex-marathon on before they burned the damned thing in their back yard.

He grinned at the memory as he languidly lifted the bottle to his lips.

_Good times._

“Cassie, you’ve gotten quite the mouth on you since you hooked up with that criminal.”

_Like you wouldn’t believe, ‘Balthy’._

“Apparently.” Castiel replied drily, taking a swig. “Though you won’t get to experience it ever again.” He lowered the bottle and smiled sweetly at his ex, who frowned and regarded Castiel carefully, as if trying to work out where his angelic, obedient  ‘Cassie’ went and why this mouthy version wasn’t kow-towing to his crap.

They fell into silence whilst Castiel looked around for any signs of the LMC, though he was sure that they should all be at work. He didn’t want this – no matter how innocent – getting back to Dean before he had a chance to tell him, though at this stage, if anyone asked, he could probably pass it off as some random asshole hitting on him again. Balthazar was certainly acting the part of leery drunkard well enough.

He was still staring at him when he said, “I’ve missed you Cassie. Truly. No-one has ever come close to making me feel the way you do.”

“Not even my cousin?” He hissed, leaning across the table, aware of people around them, close to them. The bar was quite busy for mid-afternoon. “’Cause last time I saw you, you sure looked like he was making you _feel_ something.”

Balthazar winced and glanced away. “It was a mistake Cassie, one that I would never make again.”

Castiel sat back, satisfied. “Damn right, ‘cause I’d never give you the chance, even if I wasn’t with a _criminal_ who is far superior to you in every way.”

Balthazar looked majorly affronted at the idea of an outlaw possibly being better than him at _anything_ ; after all he was Balthazar Milton – Art Gallery owner.

Castiel sniggered to himself.

“Look-“ He reached across the table suddenly and knocked Castiel’s beer over, amber liquid spilling out onto the wooden top before Castiel swooped it up, thankfully rescuing the majority of his drink.

His right shirt sleeve was wet through though and so he unbuttoned the cuff and rolled it up his forearm – he’d chuck it in the wash when he got home, but right now, he didn’t want his arm to keep coming into contact with the claggy fabric.

“Sorry Cassie,” He did actually look contrite – something very rarely seen on his usually perpetually smirking face. There had been more than one occasion during the course of their relationship when Cas had wanted to wipe it off with a swift kick to his nuts. “…What the Hell?”

Castiel followed Balthazar’s line of sight.

_Oh._

He sometimes forgot about the marks that marred his arms. He'd gotten so used to them that they mostly went unnoticed, unless someone was tactless enough to point them out. Like now. “They’re just scars Balthazar, calm down.” He muttered, slightly embarrassed.

“No not them – well yes them – but no, I was actually referring to the tattoo.”

Castiel paused, then smiled and twisted his arm to look at the black ink under his skin. “Oh that? Matching tattoo. Dean has one on his forearm too, though his is bigger. We had to modify it for me a bit because of the whole burns thing.”

Balthazar just gaped at him in astonishment, which then shifted into something altogether more horrified. “What has he turned you into Cassie?”

“Nothing I didn’t want to be turned into.” Castiel snapped back, growing impatient now. He’d given him more time than most people would and yet he still wasn’t getting the picture.

“You mean you actually like being like this?”

He was just about to open his mouth to tell his ex to fuck off, when a gruff voice replied from behind him.

“Why wouldn’t he? He’s perfect.”

Castiel twisted around in his seat and Dean – his amazing, beautiful Dean – was leaning casually against the frame of the booth, wearing a grease-stained, white form-fitting tank-top with his biker jacket and a pair of tight black jeans, like some kind of ridiculously hot angel come to save him from his bastard ex.

“You’re Dean?” Balthazar spluttered, looking between them both for either confirmation or denial.

“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.” Dean said in a mocking accent. “Though you’re British – and boy if I haven’t had enough of those assholes today – so I’m going to take a wild _stab_ in the dark and assume that you’re Balthazar.” It wasn’t a question and Castiel frowned at Dean; there was something wrong. He was on edge about something. Besides this situation, obviously.

Balthazar gasped indignantly, and Castiel was starting to fear that his ex was far from sensible enough to slink away now before things got any worse. Before _he_ made them any worse.

“Well, you are _just_ a thousand shades of charming, aren’t you?” And then he turned to Cas, eyebrows raised and said, “Him? Really?”

Dean sneered, his face twisting into something that Castiel very rarely saw. “Yes, is that a problem for you, you cheating scumbag? ’Cause if it is, then you can easily rectify it by making yourself disappear. Or I can help you out with it. Choice is yours.”

Balthazar scoffed condescendingly. “Threats already.” He nodded to himself as if confirming something in his mind. “It’s nice to see that you haven’t ended up with some backwards tattooed Neanderthal Cassie, because then I’d _really_ be worried.”

Castiel reached out for Dean’s hand in a gesture of solidarity, and Dean took it, but he kept his eyes on Balthazar, moving forwards so that he was at the end of the table, as if he were almost trying to get between Castiel and his ex.

“Well, I’d say that it’s better than a pompous prick who fucks anything that moves.”

Balthazar shook his head and waggled his finger at Dean as if he were admonishing an errant child. Had he always been this patronising? Had Castiel been so in love with him that he’d failed to notice what a complete tool Balthazar was?

“You shouldn’t be throwing stones when you’re in the mansion of all glass houses Dean. I’ve been told enough about you to know that you’ve definitely had an abundant amount of dick warmers over the years. Cassie is just the most recent in a long line-“

Dean’s free hand, balled into a fist, slammed down on the table – a mild reaction, all things considered – making both Castiel and Balthazar jump. “Is that what he was to you Balthazar? A fucking dick warmer, because he’s certainly a lot more to me than that.”

It would be totally clichéd to say that Castiel got a warm glow from his boyfriend’s words – but he probably would have done – if Balthazar hadn’t virtually signed his own death warrant with the next thing that came out of his pretentious mouth.

 “I doubt that.” He turned to Castiel and went to place his hand over Cas’s, who immediately pulled away as if he’d been stung. He carried on, unruffled. “Listen to me Cassie, if he’s abusing you or hurting you in any way, you can tell me. I’ll take you _home._ Back to Denver where you belong. Maybe we could start again?”

“Fu-“

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Dean said to no-one in particular, letting go of Cas’s hand. “Right fucking here.” He went to reach behind under the back of his jacket where Cas knew he kept his gun.

_Shit._

Castiel jumped up from his seat and laid a hand on Dean’s arm, stopping him from going any further, putting himself between his current and ex-boyfriend, acting as a barrier. “Baby, please. Calm down.”

“Yes _baby_ ,” Balthazar taunted from behind him. “Calm down before you hurt yourself because you’re not wearing your fucking straitjacket.”

Castiel turned to look at his ex, but kept his hands on Dean. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I _will_ let him loose on you Balthazar.” His venomous tone made Balthazar balk, eyes wide. “And no-one in here will give a shit; in fact they’ll probably help Dean bury your fucking body and they’ll do it with a goddamn whistle and a skip in their step. _So kindly stop talking_.”

Balthazar looked perfectly shocked and his mouth snapped shut, eyes suddenly furious, but Castiel couldn’t bring himself to care. He just wanted to focus on Dean. He’d consider today a victory if Dean didn’t end up in the cells for killing Balthazar.

Castiel cupped Dean’s face in his hands and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, hoping that some amount of tenderness would calm him down enough until they got home at least, where they could fight and fuck until Castiel couldn’t even remember his own name, let alone his ex’s. “Please Dean, don’t give him the satisfaction.”

Dean looked over Cas’s shoulder at the pompous British – what was it with the fucking English today? – prick and took a deep calming breath. “Come with me, Cas. And you,” he pointed to Balthazar. “If you’re not gone by the time we get back, then I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“I’ll be waiting right here then.”

“Oh, I certainly hope so.” Dean flashed Balthazar a wink, which Castiel had a few stunned seconds to process before he was getting dragged towards the men’s room near the back of the Roadhouse.

***

The bathroom door slammed closed behind them and straight away Dean was pacing the small – thankfully empty – space, like a man possessed and Castiel waited patiently for him to speak, considerably nervous. He had no doubt that Dean would have used his gun to blow Balthazar into next week and he was far from sure how this was going to play out. He surreptitiously twisted the lock, just in case it ended up as more than arguing. Dean seemed to be positively vibrating with murderous intent and the last time he was like this, they’d had some pretty fierce sex.

“Cas, what the actual fuck? Why didn’t you tell me that cunt was gonna show up? Jesus fucking Christ!”

Castiel immediately bristled at the tone. Dean was blaming him for this? “I didn’t know until this morning. What the Hell was I supposed to do? It’s not like I could just give him a fucking call and tell him not to bother, ‘cause my asshole quota is choc-fucking-full of Dean-fucking-Winchester right now, is it?”

Dean went to reply, but Castiel stopped him with his next tirade when something occurred to him and his brain completely switched gears, boiling hot rage bubbling over.

“How the Hell did you know I was here anyway, Dean, hmm? It wouldn’t be because you’re keeping fucking tabs on me again would it? That’s how come you’re here instead of at work? Did you ask Ellen to give you a fucking call in case I was doing something ‘stupid’ again? Oh, Castiel, he’s so mentally in-fucking-capable of looking after himself that he needs his bulldozer fucking boyfriend to ram-raid his way into every situation like a Knight in Goddamn shining armour!”

He cringed at his own choice of words – the same words Alistair had used against him –they had cut deeper than some of the physical wounds.

Dean had the good grace to look surprised and slightly ashamed. “What do you want me to say Cas? That I don’t care about you, because you know that isn’t true. I’m just trying to keep you safe!”

“Blah blah blah. Same bullshit, different day. You know what? Maybe you and Balthazar should go fuck each other; after all you’re practically the same person, it’d be like fucking yourself – which I really suggest that you do!” It was untrue and petty and all kinds of stupid to be riling Dean up like this in a public bathroom, but they were steadily reaching the point of no return and he could feel the familiar heat skittering along his veins.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Dean advanced on him then – predatory and calculating, looking like he wanted to eat Castiel alive – forcing Castiel to back up until his ass hit the sinks.

“That what you really think Cas?” He asked in a voice that indicated calm, but Castiel knew that the storm in Dean’s mind was only just breaking. “You’re comparing me to that bastard? The bastard who broke your heart? Me and him are one and the fucking same?”

Castiel knew, _he fucking knew_ that the answer he was about to give was going to be like flicking a lit match at  a powder-keg, but he was so far removed from caring and he _needed_ this. They both did.

 “That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Out of pure frustration, he pushed at Dean’s chest as hard as he could, which did precisely fuck all, except make the volatile situation potentially worse. Dean didn’t move; the only indication that he’d even registered the hit were the cords of muscle shifting beneath his skin as he held himself back from a full-blown attack on Cas. They were treading such a thin line and it was so exhilarating that Castiel always forgot that the man boxing him in against the sinks was probably twice as powerful as him. “You’re both assholes who think that I’m their fucking property! Well I don’t belong to him and I don’t belong to you!”

Dean – predictably – was on him in seconds, lacking any finesse or placidity – just sheer _need_ –  loosening Cas’s blue tie with nimble fingers, grunting in satisfaction when the knot gave way and he was able toss it into the basin before he started working on the button and zipper of Cas’s jeans.

Castiel met Dean’s eyes then; they were dark with intent – malicious and Castiel’s already rock hard dick gave an involuntary twitch as Dean yanked his pants and boxers down to his ankles. He produced a  flick knife from the inside pocket of his jacket, and then he was bending down to slice a cut up the left and then the right leg of Castiel’s jeans; now able to pull the destroyed article of clothing over Cas’s boots and toss them – and his underwear – somewhere across the room.  He smirked in approval when he straightened back up – closing and dropping the knife back into his pocket – and stepped between Cas’s legs without any pesky denim in the way.

He shrugged out of his leather jacket, letting it fall to the floor before moving on to his own jeans; unbuttoning and pulling them down just far enough to get his cock out.

“Yeah you do,” He whispered, biting the skin on Castiel’s neck, just below his ear.  Castiel had to work hard to suppress his shiver. “And that fuckwit ex of yours will know it too.”

Dean hoisted Castiel up onto the cold surface, tugging his legs further apart and manhandling him until his cock was pressed against Cas’s entrance and the smaller man automatically slid his legs around Dean’s waist, teeth chattering in cold or anticipation - he wasn’t sure –  but either way, he needed his boyfriend to be inside him, _like yesterday_. And then Dean was slowly pushing himself in and Castiel’s fingertips were scrabbling for purchase against the cheap countertop, one of the taps from the sink digging into his lower back. The dry drag fucking _hurt_ despite their earlier encounter in the shower, but it still felt so damn good. He _wanted_ it to hurt, _wanted_ to be reminded of this every time he sat down for the next few days.

“Tell me you love me,” Dean’s fingers groped blindly for the tie that he’d thrown in the sink and then suddenly he was looping it around Cas’s neck twice and pulling it taut – wrapping the spare length round his fist, like some perverse interpretation of a leash. Cas could feel the silk rubbing against his throat and he had to close his eyes and grit his teeth to stop himself from coming there and then.

“Jesus _fuck,_ Dean.”

“Fucking say it Cas,” Dean stopped his movements, stilling completely and Castiel opened his eyes, to look at the face of the man he loved. Dean Winchester – knight in shining armour, hero, villain, outlaw, criminal, boyfriend. He looked breath-taking, all power and brute strength, his face set in hard lines that Cas was certain that his enemies must see just before they died.

But it was the _opposite_ of the end of his life that he saw in Dean’s dark eyes.

“Say it.”

Castiel writhed desperately, trying to get Dean to move again, to do something, _anything._ When Dean remained motionless, he was caving within seconds. “I fucking love you Dean!”

“Good.”

Castiel damn-near screamed when Dean pulled out completely and then thrust in hard, the head of his cock _punching_ against Castiel’s prostate. It made his head spin like the first time he’d gone on the waltzers at the fair with Gabe, and he was rapidly losing all coherency as the silk tightened further around his straining throat. It felt so fucking _good,_ so fucking _pure._ It always did with Dean, but this was different; baser, more primal. Dean needed to make his claim and Castiel needed to be claimed; to be shown that he was wanted. Was _worth_ wanting, despite his myriad of flaws, his scars and broken brain.

“You _are_ mine Cas,” Dean growled, low and animalistic and everything that – before he’d met the magnificent man currently pounding into him like nothing else mattered – he hadn’t known he needed. “Nobody else’s. Say it.”

Dean always seemed to know intuitively what Cas needed and vice versa – already keenly attuned to each other’s cravings and desires –and the ease with which they yielded to each other time and time again, no matter the situation, was indicative of two people who had been together years, not months.

During their fights, they would tear at one another; literally and metaphorically until they were stripped down to the bone; until they had no choice but to completely rebuild themselves, intertwining their souls closer still; until one couldn’t breathe without the other; until their obsession was satisfied, and even _now_ they were still pushing and pulling at each other, finding out the others’ limits.

And how to break them.

“Yours,” Castiel gasped, barely able to breathe, let alone talk, nails biting into the inked skin of Dean’s bare arms. There was no way that he was _ever_ letting this go. No matter what Dean did or didn’t do anymore, this was it. They were tangled together forever now; bound tightly by everything from their matching tattoos right up to the blood that had been spilled between them.

Blood that had been spilled _because_ of them.

He let out a weak breathless cry when another well-aimed stab hit his prostate; he was close, so damn close…

“Damn fucking straight,” Dean sounded absolutely _wrecked_ , “Now come for me, ‘Cassie’…Show me who you **_belong_** to.”

Cas’s air supply was abruptly cut off and the white-hot-pleasure knife edge that he’d been riding for what seemed like _weeks_ was joined by the burn of pain and together they streaked through his very being, shocking his entire body into an orgasm so powerful that he thought he might pass out.

He barely even registered Dean’s hips faltering in their rhythm, nor the shout that was ripped from his throat and buried into the damp skin of Cas’s neck; instead far too busy focusing on gulping down air into his lungs now that Dean had finally released the ligature, riding out his own release.

“Holy shit,” Dean was mumbling into the sweaty collar of Cas’s shirt, as his hips moved in little abortive motions, fucking them both through their orgasms. “Holy fucking shit.”

Castiel didn’t – couldn’t reply. That was definitely up there in his top five hottest fucks of his entire life.

There were a few moments of silence, when nothing could be heard except for the harsh noise of their breathing and the low beat of the music outside.

“Everyone’s gonna know what we just did.” Castiel absently noted, not really caring, just stating a fact.

Dean’s eyes met his, a beatific smile on his face – making him look so naïve and sweet – belying what they’d just done and the fact that he was still buried deep inside Castiel.

“Exactly.”


	4. Chapter Four - Chemical Imbalance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is a Balance of Power song.
> 
> For those of you who have seen SoA, there's a small bit towards the end that may seem familiar, but I just had to!
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone who is kudos-ing, commenting and bookmarking. It makes me happy.

Castiel was always a bit clingy for a few days after some of their more brutal ‘encounters’ and this time was no different. He had just returned from his quick trip to the store, smacking a motorcycle magazine down on the kitchen table where Dean was eating toast, and he set about putting the rest of the groceries away. He’d popped out to get some food, insisting that Dean needed a decent meal for a change – though who was cooking it, Dean wasn’t sure, as Cas was most definitely _not_ anywhere near a decent chef.  However, he undeniably had other talents that Dean enjoyed as much – if not more – than a good home baked pie, so he could deal with Cas’s lack of culinary proficiency.

Dean heaved a sigh. He was a lot calmer than he’d been yesterday – thanks entirely to Cas and his alternative medicine – but there was still the issue of Bobby, who had avoided his eyes since their mini showdown; the whole Pellegrino thing and of course, the British fuckstick who would almost certainly still be sniffing around Cas despite the scene they’d made at the Roadhouse last night. And _wasn’t_ that just something? They’d come out of the bathroom to a round of applause and wolf-whistles, but Cas’s ex had been nowhere in sight, which had been at least half of Dean’s intention. Though, there was no way that the slime ball would have just disappeared without his precious ‘Cassie’ in tow.

“Stop frowning.” Cas slapped his arm gently before he grabbed Dean’s toast from between his fingers and slid onto his lap sideways, hooking one arm around the back of his boyfriend’s neck. Dean slipped his arm around Cas’s clothed back, leaning his head on Cas’s shoulder and resumed his scowling insolently.

“I can _feel_ you glowering, Dean.” Cas muttered, popping the last bite of toast in between his plush lips and licking the butter off his fingers, sucking each individual digit into his mouth slowly and deliberately.

Well, that was an interesting diversion.

“Do you have to do that?” Dean whispered against Castiel’s marked throat – brushing his lips gently over the smudge of bruises there – making the smaller man squirm in his lap.

“Do what?” He asked once he’d swallowed his mouthful and he side-eyed Dean, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Dean would be lying if he said that this wasn’t one of his favourite facets of Cas.

“You know what. It’s very distracting. _You’re_ very distracting.”

“What, _this_?” Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand and slowly sucked his index finger into his mouth, twirling his tongue over the first knuckle.

Dean exhaled shakily. “Goddammit Cas,” He was already growing hard and judging by Cas’s wicked expression, his boyfriend was able to feel it through both layers of jeans.

Of course, that was the moment that his moose brother decided to clomp into the kitchen. There _always_ seemed to be an LMC member floating around Dean’s place; it was as if they had nowhere else to go. He was seriously considering banning everyone between certain hours unless they wanted to see him and Cas fucking on every surface.

“I’m starting to feel like the whole world is against us here.” He grumbled when Sam began banging through the cupboards like he owned the place and Cas pulled Dean’s finger out of his mouth with a wet pop and instead pressed a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“Quit your whining Winchester. Anyone would think that you haven’t been laid in ages.”

“Mhm.” He murmured noncommittally. “How are you feeling by the way? You okay?”

“Let’s put it this way, I had to go to the store in my car rather than my Harley, so infer from that what you will.”

Dean smirked and kissed Castiel gently. “I love you babe.”

Castiel smiled back serenely; he looked so _happy_ and Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. Dammit, he needed this man; would do anything to keep him.

“I love you too, Dean.”

 _Oh God_ , he had to wash this chick flick moment off himself before he started sharing recipes or scrapbooking tips, so he cleared his throat and changed his attention to Sammy.

“Oi, sasquatch.” He shouted gruffly, causing Sam to turn around and he started violently, as if he were almost surprised to see the two of them in their own goddamn home. “What the fuck are you doing? It’s like the crack of dawn or something. Don’t you have kinky newlywed sex to be getting on with now that you’ve popped your cherry?”

“Hilarious Dean.” Sam deadpanned, pulling a bowl out of one cupboard and a box of Lucky Charms from the one next to it. “Though the way Ellen tells it, you’ve been having enough kinky sex for the both of us.”

Cas’s eyes widened. “Welllll, I think that’s my cue to be having a shower. Gotta get ready for work.”

‘Traitor!’ Dean mouthed at his double-crossing boyfriend as he began to awkwardly push himself off Dean’s lap – which Dean did nothing to aid, bastard that Cas was – and then he was walking gingerly out of the kitchen, turning left towards the stairs.

 “Okay, see you Cas.” Sam called cheerily after him, pouring milk over the massive bowl of cereal that he’d helped himself to.

He was quiet when he sat down opposite Dean at the round table and remained that way whilst he munched his way through Dean’s Lucky Charms and Dean finished off his last slice of toast, loosely flicking through the magazine Cas had bought.

It was only when Dean stood up to put his plate in the sink that Sam said anything.

“Are they ligature marks around Cas’s neck?” It was asked so casually, like he was trying to be conversational rather than accusatory.

_Shit._

Dean kept his back to his brother and shrugged nonchalantly, fingers gripping the edge of the sink. He so wasn’t in the mood for his brother’s hug-it-out shit today.

Sam wasn’t deterred. “Dean, Ellen told me what happened at the Roadhouse last night…” Dean mentally braced himself for the lecture that Sam was itching to give. “It’s fucking sick. Can’t you see that? You two need help.”

_And there it is._

“Look Sam, I’m fine, Cas is fine. We’re dealing.” Dean’s tone brooked no argument, but Sammy – bless his oversized bones – still had a go.

“You’re not dealing. Neither of you are. You call ripping each other to shreds dealing? They’re fucking _welts_ around his neck, Dean. You know, as in _strangulation_ marks-“

Dean turned on him then; the thin-fucking-strand of his patience already snapped. “What would you even know Sam? How would you have the first fucking idea?”

“Well-“

“Exactly, you don’t know jack shit, so I’d suggest that you stay the fuck out of it!”

An awkward silence filled the kitchen.

“I’m going to meet Crowley.” Dean finally said, making his way across the room to follow Cas.

“On your own?”

He stopped and faced his brother. “Yes, Sam. On my fucking own. It’s not like any of you fuckers have my back anymore, is it? Aside from maybe Benny.” It was unfair and guilt flooded him when he saw his brother’s hurt expression, but he was pissed, goddammit.

The back door was suddenly yanked open and there stood Jo with an arm full of groceries. Probably the exact same as Cas had just bought.

“Morning boys!” She trilled happily, dumping the bag on the breakfast bar.

_Oh my fucking God._

Sam shot Dean one more look that said, ‘we are totally talking about this,’ and then he was greeting Jo, getting up out of his seat to give her a hand.

Dean stalked off, ignoring both of them. Was he seriously not allowed to have five fucking minutes peace in his own house?

***

Castiel was busy sorting through some of the older, decommissioned library books for the fête – deciding whether kids these days preferred Hairy Maclary or Brown Bear – when the main door groaned open. He didn’t look up from the massive piles that he had stacked on his chair or the desk, but when the person spoke, he instantly stilled.

“Pretty volatile isn’t he, your man?”

He chucked the Hungry Caterpillar onto the ‘maybe’ pile and shot Balthazar a sharp look over the rim of his glasses, possibly depicting every librarian porn cliché ever, but he ached – in a good way – and he was tired and in absolutely no mood to be dealing with morons today. Which was a real shitter, ‘cause one had just fallen right into his lap. Again.

Cas resumed scanning over the books, flipping through the pages of Matilda, checking for tears or creases. “Only when faced with something he considers an issue.” He murmured disinterestedly.

He saw Balthazar in his periphery moving towards him with quick frantic steps.

He stopped just in front of the desk. “So I’m an issue you? That’s charming Cassie.”

Castiel sighed heavily, slapped the book down and threw his glasses on top. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to think of a way to phrase his next response that wouldn’t end up with anyone incurring injuries.

“I am tired of you Balthazar. You’re not taking no for an answer. I don’t know how I can make it any clearer to you that I don’t want you.”

“I get that Cassie. I get that you think you love that-“

“I don’t _think_ anything. I _know_ I love Dean. And please refrain from talking about him in a derogatory manner, because my patience is wearing pretty thin today and I have a Beretta in the biscuit tin.” His lips twitched against a smile when he thought about how Dean would almost certainly make an innuendo out of it. “Not a euphemism.”

He’d wanted a firearm after the whole Alistair thing and after a lot of arguing, Dean had relented, but insisted that he kept it at work and not have one at home because why would Cas ever need a gun when Dean was about – which of course, was ridiculous – and incidentally, also why he’d gone to great lengths to hide the one that Benny had given him yesterday.

Balthazar looked up him, discomfort marring his features. His voice was soft, as if he were talking to a spooked animal, “You keep a gun at your job in a _library_? Don’t you realise how crazy that sounds?”

“Maybe to you.” Castiel granted with a small shrug. “But it’s just how it is.”

“No it’s not though! I mean, it doesn’t have to be!”

“Yes it does.” Cas replied flatly, bored of reliving the same conversation over and over with someone who had chosen not to be a part of his life the second he even _thought_ about sticking his dick in someone else. “It does, because I _love_ Dean. He’s everything that you’re not.”

“Well, at least we agree there.”

“In a good way.” Castiel verified. “He’s brave, smart, loving, _loyal_ -“

“And bugfuck crazy.”

Castiel cocked a sceptical brow. “Funnily enough, probably the one thing you both have in common. I mean, you’ve got to have a screw loose to follow me out here after all this time thinking that I would just welcome you back with open arms.”

“I knew it wouldn’t be easy,” Balthazar admitted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “But I wasn’t counting on you being so _obsessed_ with Dean-fucking-Winchester that you would be virtually unreachable.”

Castiel hummed thoughtfully. “You think I’m obsessed?”

“Yes,” Balthazar replied emphatically. “I think you’re _both_ obsessed with each other. It’s not healthy.”

“You may be right there,” He acknowledged with a small smile. “But at least it’s mutual.”

“Mutual, huh?” Balthazar muttered, coming round the side of Castiel’s desk and crowding into his space. “Why are you wearing this scarf inside by the way Cassie? I don’t suppose it has anything to do with your psychopathic lover, now does it?”

He moved surprisingly quickly, tugging at the article before Castiel had much of a chance to respond, and his expression rapidly changed from one of determination to absolute horror. “Oh my God.”

“Balthazar it’s nothing.” Castiel readjusted his scarf, covering his neck back up. If he had his way, he’d wear the bruises with pride, but it wasn’t especially professional and so he’d spent a good half an hour this morning digging around at the back of his and Dean’s shared closet until he found an old purple knitted thing that Anna had bought him for Christmas years ago, and chucked it on.

He may have covered the evidence up, but Balthazar continued to stare at him open-mouthed as if they were still in plain view. “He really _is_ abusing you, isn’t he?”

“No,” Castiel replied firmly. “No, he’s not. And I really think you need to leave.”

 

 

***

Why Crowley wanted to meet whilst he was getting a shave at Floyds was completely beyond Dean, but he allowed it, almost entirely because the Barbers was on the high street and he had a direct line of sight to the library which was diagonally opposite. Not that he was checking up on Cas, because he totally wasn’t.

“Pellegrino is nothing to do with me, I swear. In fact, I can say with complete honesty that in the last three months, our relationship had gone decidedly downhill. Arsehole stiffed me on some drugs money, saying that they weren’t pure enough, I mean, me selling faulty goods, right?”

“Yep,” Dean murmured, staring out the massive glass-fronted window, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, in case he was tempted to go for his gun. “Can’t imagine you ever selling anything that isn’t completely authentic Crowley.” He turned to face the man in the leather chair with shaving foam all over his cheeks and chin – they’d sent Floyd out for a smoke whilst they talked business. It was hard to take him seriously when he looked like a warped version of Santa. “I mean, it’s not like you’re a criminal or anything, now is it?”

He crossed the tiled floor of the shop and leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest and legs crossed at the ankles. In his peripheral vision he could see the library, but he could also keep his eye on Crowley. Perfect.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Always comes back to that with you, doesn’t it Rocky? I mean, it’s not like you can talk.”

Dean ignored him. “So you and Pellegrino are no longer bosom buddies. That what you’re telling me?”

Crowley nodded warily and Dean wasn’t sure if it was because of him or the man not wanting to get foam on his suit. Probably the latter, knowing Crowley.

“Are you sure about that? Because you seemed awfully keen to get him those drugs when you thought you might die. Any chance that something else is going on here?”

“Squirrel –“ He cut himself off when something outside seemed to catch his eye. “Isn’t that your beau?” He squinted, trying to see. “Oh! And with another man too?”

Dean snapped his head to left. Crowley was right. In the parking lot of the library looking like they were involved in a pretty heated argument was Cas and –

_Fucking Balthazar._

Dean actually snarled and within seconds he was wrenching the door open and jogging across the street, blood roaring in his ears.

What the Hell was wrong with the douchebag? Why wasn’t he getting the damn message? The only way he could make it any clearer was to put a bullet in him, but he was pretty sure that Cas didn’t favour that option; though judging by his current angry expression he may be amenable to suggestions.

“Cas!”

Both men looked up simultaneously, but with differing expressions; Castiel looked relieved and Balthazar’s expression ran the gamut from surprise, through fear, right up to faux-insouciance.

Dean came to a stop to the left of his boyfriend and gave him a dazzling smile. “Everything okay babe?”

“Yeah,” Castiel smiled through gritted teeth. “Balthazar was just leaving.”

“Already? What a shame,” Dean said, sending a sarcastic smile in the douchebag’s direction. “Well, I would say visit soon, but if you show up again, then you’ll be leaving in a wooden box.”

Balthazar shook his head sadly, apparently unfazed by Dean’s presence. “I’m disappointed in you Cassie. I really thought you’d be better than this.”

“Like you, you mean?” Castiel asked, eyebrows raised as Dean sidled closer to him, slipped his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and kissed his forehead. It was a totally possessive gesture, but rather than bitch about it, Cas just turned into Dean and wrapped his arms around his waist, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck.

Balthazar looked away from the image. “I may not be perfect, but I’m not a criminal. I could give you such a good life again Cassie.”

“Not interested Balthazar.” His voice was slightly hushed by the thick leather of Dean’s jacket.

“Come on baby.” Dean prised Cas’s arms away from his middle, and looked him in the eyes, completely ignoring the asshole ex. “You had lunch? I’ve just got a couple more things to finish up in the barbers, but then we can go to the diner or something?”

“Sure,” Castiel smiled at him brightly, as if nothing would make him happier. It made Dean’s heart swell. “I’ve just gotta lock up the library. I’ll meet you outside Floyds in five minutes?”

“Okay baby.” He dipped his head and pressed his lips to Castiel’s. “See you in a sec.”

“Behave,” Castiel said warningly as he wandered off, and Dean started to make his way back to Crowley. He needed to go to the boardroom table with _something_. Maybe then he could start making amends for his behaviour the previous day.

“If you really loved him, you’d let him walk away from you instead of pulling him down to your level.” Balthazar hissed as he struggled to keep up with Dean’s broad strides.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean muttered. “It ever occur to you that your darling ‘Cassie’ never was _quite_ who you thought? I mean, I’m sure he went along with your bullshit because he’s a nice guy, but really? Art galleries and trips to Paris are all very well and good, but tell me this –“

He spun around to face the other man – who had stopped dead directly behind him – and leaned in close, his voice low. “How many times did you really make him scream? Because, I have no doubt that you caught most of our performance last night and well y’know,” His grin widened. “That’s pretty standard fare. So yeah, a criminal I may well be, but I’m a damn good fuck apparently. Which is more than can be said for you Balthazar. Certainly from what your darling has told me anyway.” He winked at the other man. “Not to worry, eh? Plenty more semi-adequate fish in the sea being as the catch of the day belongs to me.”

Balthazar’s face turned an interesting shade of puce and Dean strolled back into the barber’s quietly pleased with himself. That had been so much more satisfying than just blowing his head off like he’d been all gung-ho to do last night.

The bell above the door tinkled behind him and Crowley’s eyes widened. “Err, Squirrel…”

“You bastard!”

_Fuckin’ really?_

Dean let his head fall back and a short frustrated groan escaped his throat as he faced Balthazar again. “I can really only tell you so many ways to fuck off before it just isn’t fun anymore, man.”

Balthazar was standing there in a fighting stance, with his fists raised like the Cowardly Lion in the Wizard Of Oz. Did that make Dean the Tin man or the Scarecrow? ‘Cause Cas was most definitely Dorothy. “You think you’re infallible don’t you, Dean Winchester? Well, face me man to man and then we’ll see!”

Dean couldn’t help the short splutter of laughter. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Even Crowley sniggered. “Dude, you want me to _fight_ you?”

“Yes! I saw those marks around Cassie’s neck! You’re hurting him and I can’t stand by and watch you destroy him, so why don’t you pick on someone your own size for a change?”

“You’re implying that Cas _isn’t_ my size? As in, not an adult? Don’t let him hear you say that. Last time I said words to that effect I got punched.”

“This isn’t a joke you fucking animal! This is his life!” Balthazar was getting angrier and redder by the second and whilst Dean wouldn’t usually have a problem with fighting – and winning – against the asshole, he didn’t really want to damage Floyd’s nice place. It was basic courtesy not to destroy someone’s livelihood and with the fête coming up this weekend, it wouldn’t look too good against the Club.

“You really think he wouldn’t have kicked my ass if he didn’t want them there? Wow, you actually don’t know him at all.”

Balthazar swung his fist, which Dean blocked with his forearm and then used the other man’s own momentum against him; shoving him as hard as he could in the direction of Floyds window. Of course, he crashed straight through and ended up cut, bleeding and whimpering on the sidewalk surrounded by thousands of shards of glass. Dean didn’t even think, he simply stepped over the frame, fragments of window crunching under his boots as he went directly for the bastard; fist twisted tightly in his stupid shirt and with the other he was reigning blows down on his face, until his knuckles were beginning to ache and the red mist was starting to dissipate; though not by enough for Dean to actually let him go.

“You fucking,” Punch to the left jaw. “Come anywhere near,” Punch to the cheekbone. “Cas _ever_ again,” Punch to the throat, making Balthazar wheeze loudly. “I will FUCKING KILL you, you hear me?” He shook him violently like a ragdoll and Balthazar went with it; completely limp and letting Dean dole out his punishment.

“Dean, baby stop!”

It wasn’t until Castiel was groping frantically at the back of Dean’s jacket and he could hear sirens nearing, that he even blinked. He released Balthazar’s bloody and battered body and closed his eyes in agony.

“Fuck.”

He was in so much deep shit.

***

Once again, cuffed to a table in one of the interviewing rooms down at the police station was one of the last places on Earth he wanted to be. He had splatters of Balthazar’s blood all over his shirt and he desperately needed to get home for a shower to wash the last couple of shitty days off himself.

The door made a soft _snick!_ sound and then Sheriff Mills and another cop were in the room, looking rather unimpressed. Obviously the good Sheriff wasn’t on the payroll, but he couldn’t remember about the pot-bellied dude next to her.

“So Mr Winchester, it’s been a while –“

“Spare me the crap; let’s just get on with it.”

She didn’t look surprised by his attitude. Perks of dealing with scum all day, Dean supposed. “Floyd and Mr Crowley both confirm that you came in for a haircut and Mr Milton went for you – completely unprovoked of course – so you…” Sherriff Mills paused and raised her eyebrows. “…Pushed him through a plate glass window. Huh.”

“Self-defence.” Dean confirmed, looking between the two police officers, trying his damnedest to look sincere. Internally, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

_Thank fuck for Crowley and Floyd._

Sherriff Mills shook her head and laughed to herself, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “That’s fantastic.”

“No charges?” Dean asked impatiently. Cas had looked mortified when Dean had been cuffed and bundled into the back of the cop car. Again. He needed to get back to him.

“None whatsoever,” The Sherriff sighed. “You’re free to go Mr Winchester.”

As soon as Cas saw him, he was throwing himself out of the blue plastic chair in the reception and wrapping his arms round his neck, kissing him ferociously. “I was so worried that you’d end up back inside,” He said between quick pecks. “I was just deliberating about robbing somewhere at gunpoint so that I could be in with you.”

It was said in a jokey tone, but they both knew that it wasn’t totally outside the realms of possibility for Cas to do something insane like that, just so that he wouldn’t have to fight his nightmares on his own. Instinctively Dean’s hand slid around the back of Cas’s bruised neck and held him in place. “Promise me that you’ll never ever do that. I would never want you in jail. Promise me.”

Castiel’s eyes flicked up to Dean’s and he gave him a watery smile. “Okay baby.”

Dean released a breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. “Okay. You wanna go get some food now? I know it’s a bit later than we’d planned, but I could really do with a pie.”

“Sounds good to me,” Castiel folded himself under his boyfriend’s arm and together they walked out of the station.

To the right of the doors,  at the bottom of the steps, there was a taxi idling  and when the occupant got out, Dean tensed, instinctively drawing Cas even closer to him, until the smaller man let out a little impudent squeak.

It was Balthazar again. However, this time – satisfyingly – he had gauze over the bride of his nose – so probably broken – blossoming bruises around both of his eyes and cheeks, and healing scabs on his face and neck from where the shards of glass had caught him. Dean couldn’t find it in himself to feel even the slightest bit guilty.

“So you got away with it, I see. Tell me Dean, are they all afraid of you or is the whole town convinced that you are a necessary evil?”

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. “A little of column A, a little of column B.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this. _I’m_ not scared of you-“

“Then you’re downright fucking stupid.” Castiel hissed, pulling away from Dean. “Just give it up Balthazar. Just fuck off back to Denver. Or next time it won’t be _Dean_ pummelling your face.”

He stomped over to his bike and straddled it as he yanked a helmet onto his head.

Dean looked from his boyfriend to Balthazar, somewhat amused. “You heard the man.” He grinned boastfully. “You _should_ be scared of me. But, in all honesty, it’s him you should be _really_ worried about. He’s got a bitch of a temper and more importantly?”

Dean leaned in closer to Balthazar and dropped his voice to a whisper. “He’s a fucking deadeye with a gun.” 


	5. Chapter Five - Superheroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is an Edguy song.
> 
> As usual, thanks to you guys commenting etc. You're all still awesome.

Dean raked a hand nervously through his hair and looked at the men who were – and hopefully would continue to be – his friends and family. “So come on, I’m sure you’re all dying to give me a hard time about me and Cas, or me throwing that douchebag through a window.”

Garth coughed, but said nothing and the rest remained tight-lipped. Bobby looked ready to burst, but it was possible that he still had Dean’s threat ringing in his ears, so that may have been giving him the motivation to refrain from telling Dean exactly what he thought.

It actually bothered Dean a bit. Despite his insistence that everybody keep out of his life, none of them had actually  _done_  it. Until now. And that was scary, because a breakdown in communication, no matter how big or small, could spell trouble for the club. They needed to feel like they could come to their leader with absolutely everything. That they could trust Dean would treat them fairly no matter what, and not fly off the handle at the smallest thing.

Which of course, Dean had done.

He had to apologise. Even if he didn’t one hundred per cent mean it – because Bobby had been on the urge of starting in on Cas, and that was unacceptable – but it would still maybe repair some bridges that he’d burned in the past few days.

“Look guys, I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been behaving a little erratically in the past few days-“

“Try months, Dean.” Benny interrupted softly, eyes firmly on an invisible mark on the boardroom table.

Had it really been that long?

“We didn’t want to say anything because y’know, you and Castiel had been through the ringer a bit, but we’ve seen the bruises, Dean. The way the both of you are so wrapped up in each other that you can’t see the wood for the trees.” Rufus explained, not meeting Dean’s eyes either.

Both he and Benny sounded so… resigned. Like they’d all had a similar discussion amongst themselves a million times over; the ‘what-shall-we-do-about-Dean’ conversation.

Dean looked to his brother who was picking at dirt under his fingernails. “Sammy?”

“I tried to talk with you yesterday Dean. You reacted just like you’ve been reacting when any of us bring up Cas in anything less than a jokey way.”

Dean flexed his hand, feeling the burn of his bloodied knuckles. He was annoyed at himself; annoyed at them.

“What do you suggest we do to sort this out then?” He asked, spreading his arms out to the table. “I’m open to ideas. Help me out here guys, because I’ve got a boyfriend so fucking damaged by something  _I_  put him through, that most days I’m impressed that he even manages to function at a normal level. He needs me.”

_But I need him more._

“I’m not willing to let him go, so we have to compromise somewhere here. Meet me in the middle.”

“Get yourselves to some kind of counsellor.” Benny said.

“Both of you,” Sam interposed. At Dean’s attempted protest, he added, “Benny and I were in that corridor Dean; we heard what Alistair was saying to you. What he did to you in jail. You need to get right with that shit.”

Dean scowled. What about this situation would ever be right?

“Well that just proves once and for all that you don’t know what the fuck you’re on about ‘cause there is nothing in this world that will change the things that bastard did to me – or Cas, and you thinking me that whining about my bullshit problems to some fucking overpaid bitch is going to make it okay? Well, it just confirms that you don’t have a fucking clue!”

_Cas is the only one who understands._

The room fell silent again and Dean took a deep steadying breath. He needed to get himself under control, otherwise he’d just be verifying all the things they were saying/thinking.

“I went to see Crowley yesterday.”

All eyes were on him again. Yeah, he could sweep this under the rug for now. After all, that was the tried-and-tested Dean Winchester method of handling shit that he wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with.

***

On his days off from the library, Castiel generally wasn’t too fussed if he didn’t get to do much. He usually busied himself with some lazy tidying or watched crappy daytime TV, but today he really wanted to practice his shooting skills. He’d have to wait until Dean and the others left so that he could sneak down into the bunker, otherwise Dean would finally click that he had kept Benny’s gun.

_Overprotective bastard._

He was just wiping down the draining board with a sponge when he heard the tell-tale sound of heavy boots on the laminate flooring and he turned around, bracing himself against the granite counter.

Dean flashed him a beautiful all-white smile as he strode over to him and enveloped him in a tight, overwhelming hug. “Morning babe. Mmm, you smell  _so_  good.”

Castiel huffed a laugh. “Yeah, that’s ‘cause I ran out of body wash and had to use yours, so now I smell like you, you vain bastard.”

He could tell Dean was still smiling. “What are you doing today then wifey?” Castiel trembled – in a good way – when he felt Dean’s warm lips graze over the shell of his ear. “Folding sheets or baking some god-awful concoction that even starving wild animals wouldn’t touch?”

Castiel pushed him away, pouting a little, though not really hurt ‘cause yeah, he wasn’t so good with the whole making food thing. The first time he’d tried to make Dean an apple pie it came out as a pretty rancid looking mush. The subsequent times hadn’t been any more successful. Everything he made always tasted too salty and faintly of broccoli. “Is my cooking that bad?”

Dean grinned and put his hands either side of Castiel on the countertop, boxing him in. “Let’s just say that you don’t cook as well as you do other things.”

Castiel’s lips curved up into a smile. “Are you ever not this crude?”

“It’s you baby. You do this to me.” He pressed himself closer and cupped Cas’s face in his hands, his green eyes focused on Cas’s lips. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

Castiel shivered under the weight of Dean’s words. He’d never felt so  _desired_  before. Dean drove him to absolute distraction with his overprotective/jealous/possessive streak, but he’d be lying if he said that it didn’t turn him on to be wanted so badly by someone as gorgeous as Dean.

He was a walking contradiction; wanting to be so thoroughly possessed and owned by Dean like he had been the other night, but at the same time – outside of the bedroom at least – he wanted to prove to Dean that he was independent – not owned – and not in need of his constant mithering and worrying.

It was getting exhausting; fluctuating between perpetually horny and angry.

“Dean? You coming man, we’ve gotta leave now if we’re gonna make the meet with the Dragons.”

“Yeah, alright Sammy.” Dean slid a hand into Cas’s hair and tugged some strands gently between his fingertips, making Castiel emit a low whine. His smirk was positively evil; heavy with implication and Castiel swallowed hard, concentrating on not jumping the handsome bastard’s bones. Again.

“I gotta go, baby. Be a couple of hours, okay?” He released Cas and stepped back.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked on the off-chance that Dean would tell him. He’d definitely been divulging a lot more Club-related information recently. It meant that Dean trusted him, which in turn made Castiel happy and more secure.

“Getting paid.” He winked and backed off out of the kitchen to follow his brother.

***

“Dean Winchester!” The leader of the Dragons Blood MC, Lee Visyak, marched towards him, grin on his face and arm outstretched. Dean was always pleased when they got to do deals with these guys; they were so welcoming and they threw awesome parties with stupidly hot chicks, which if Dean were still single, he’d be insisting they stick around for.

Definitely one of their better alliances.

“Lee, my man,” Dean took the proffered handshake and pulled him into a one armed hug. “How the Hell have you been dude?”

“Pretty damn good.”

The DBMC leader was a good five or so inches shorter than Dean, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in build; dude was huge. And with his tribal tattoos and shaved head? He certainly looked the part of outlaw biker. “How’s that piece of yours doing? Last time I saw you he was just leaving hospital.”

“Yeah man, he’s good.” Dean smirked, remembering the way that Cas had writhed beneath him that morning as Dean had pressed him down into the bed and made him come with nothing more than his tongue and fingers. “In fact he’s great.”

“Oh yeah?” Lee waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Behind them, Benny, Sam and a couple of DBMC members were unloading the thirty assault rifles from the back of the truck and carrying them into the DBMC club house.

“They been modified?” Lee asked, looking from the guns back to Dean again.

“Yeah. Fully automatic. None of that pansy ass semi shit.” Dean replied, and Lee’s face stretched into a blinding grin.

“You never disappoint me, Winchester.”

“You know, I hear that a lot,” He joked with a salacious wink and they both laughed. As Benny and Sam were pulling down the shutter on the truck, Dean turned serious. “Hey man, I gotta ask you something.”

“Sure,” Lee said as he began walking towards the club house – which Dean was certain also doubled as some kind of strip club with the amount of women that were consistently there. And the sheer amount of velvet – and beckoned Dean to follow.

“Have you heard of someone called Nick Pellegrino? He’s based in Wichita last time I checked, but he seems to have designs on this part of the state.”

Inside, they walked to the right where Dean remembered the bar was, passing by some blonde ladies who were eyeing Dean as if he were a prime steak. Before Cas, he would have undoubtedly had both of them – probably at the same time – but he didn’t even give them a second glance; all he wanted for the rest of his life now was his sexy-as-fuck librarian, who tasted like sin incarnate and moaned like a pornstar.

_I am so pathetic._

“Yeah, I have. Right nasty piece of work or so I’ve heard. As dangerous and devious as the Devil himself, or so they say.”

“You’ve never met him?”

He stopped next to the long wooden bar with an impressive number of bottled spirits behind it. “Nah. I’m thankful for it too. Once he fixates on something, that’s it.” His frown quickly morphed into his happy grin and he smacked Dean in the chest with the back of his hand. “Want a beer whilst we test these babies out?” He stepped behind the bar and pulled two green bottles out of the fridge. He twisted the tops off both and passed one to Dean.

Dean lifted his bottle in a mock toast. “Cheers man.”

“C’mon, they’ll be taking them out back.”

Dean followed again, walking along the corridors, past all their prison mug shots which were proudly displayed in frames on one of the wood panelled walls, and out the back door onto what looked like an abandoned junkyard.

There were rows of cans set up about twenty metres away and one of the men – who Dean recognised as being the VP – was carefully inspecting the weaponry, before loading it and looking along the iron sights.

“Looking good Prez!” He shouted.

“Fuckin’ shoot it!” Lee called back.

As he was watching the VP spraying bullets in the general direction of the cans, Dean noticed that Benny and Sam were now standing slightly behind and to the left of him, beer-less. “Want some of mine little brother?” He asked tilting his bottle in Sam’s direction.

Sam smiled and shook his head. “I don’t want your damn cooties Dean.”

Lee laughed.

The gunfire stopped and he nodded at Dean and the other two. “Awesome stuff as usual guys. Thanks. I’ll get your money now.”

Dean downed his beer and dropped it in one of the trash cans on his way back to his bike parked out front. The same girls eyed him again, but this time they shared a look as if telepathically deciding something between themselves.

“Fancy a quickie handsome?” The prettier one of the two asked, uncrossing her legs on the leather sofa, and the tiny skirt she was wearing rode up her thighs a bit more. She wasn’t wearing underwear.

He smiled as politely as possible. “Thanks, but no thanks, sweetheart.”

She pouted, looking mildly put out, and he found that it wasn’t nearly as sexy on her as it had been on his boyfriend earlier that morning, when Dean had reminded him of his cooking skills – or lack thereof.

“You know you want to.” The other one added, now trying her hand at seduction. Which hadn’t worked for her cuter friend, so did she really think he was going to cave in for her?

“Nah, I really don’t. Can’t see my significant other approving. In fact, he’d kick my ass.”

They both visibly recoiled at the unexpected pronoun and Dean smiled, satisfied.

Lee came up behind him and grabbed his arm, pulling Dean away from them. “Eve, Tiffany, leave Dean alone; he’s with someone far prettier than either of you two.”

Benny and Sam were already outside, quietly talking which stopped when Lee and Dean appeared. Dean frowned.

_Probably conspiring against me._

“Well, thanks boys. As usual, it’s been a pleasure. Let’s not make it another fuck knows how many months before we do this again.”

Sam and Benny said their farewells and climbed into the truck whilst Dean waited behind on his bike, waving at his brother and best friend as they pulled away.

“Thanks again Dean.” Lee said, leaning on the handlebars of Dean’s Thunderbird. “I know you probably could have got a higher price for those guns elsewhere.”

Dean shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal – which it actually wasn’t. “We consider you guys a good friend to our club. It’s not a problem.”

“Well I appreciate it. Next time you need a favour, we’re there.”

Dean nodded. “Thanks man. So have you got any ideas on what to do about this Pellegrino prick?”

Lee shook his head sadly and straightened up, reaching into his back pocket. “You could try tracking down a guy known as Jackson Rosco. I think he used to work for Pellegrino a few months back. Be careful though man.” Lee warned, as he slapped two chunky envelopes with 30k each inside into Dean’s waiting palm. “They don’t call him El Diablo for nothing.”

 

***

Castiel couldn’t figure out for the life of him why Dean was so against him having a gun. He was good with one, and even now when Dean wasn’t around to witness, he was still safe; he had a pair of safety glasses on and ear defenders, even though he suspected that most of the LMC who came down here to practice neglected to use them.

Of course, it also meant that he didn’t hear the guys coming back and so, when two tattooed arms snaked around his waist from behind, he nearly shot a round into the ceiling.

He yanked the protective wear off, practically hyperventilating and on the verge of cardiac arrest. “What the fuck Dean? I could have killed you!”

“Exactly.” Dean’s voice was low and Cas could feel his hot breath against his neck. “And that’s why I’ve always told you to keep your finger along the trigger guard rather than the trigger itself. It’s safer and your finger is already right there. If you’re gonna start helping us out from time to time then I’d rather you be safe. I’d also rather not get shot in the back if something makes you jump.”

Castiel’s eyes widened at the implication. He hurriedly turned around in Dean’s arms so that he could face him.

“Are you saying that I can start carrying a gun?”

“Yes.”

Castiel eyed him suspiciously. “What’s happened now? Why are you suddenly okay with me having a gun at all times?”

“Nothing’s happened. It just makes sense.” Dean replied, rubbing the back of his neck; one of his big tells.

“Liar,” Castiel accused, narrowing his eyes. “Tell me.” He pushed the barrel of the gun into Dean’s chest in a ridiculously empty threat.

Dean gripped his wrist and yanked it sharply upwards, making Castiel lose his grip on the gun. His boyfriend took it off him, and ejected the magazine in one fluid move.

And wow, wasn’t that just insanely hot?

“ _Never_  point a loaded gun at someone you’re not willing to kill.” He went to hand it back over, but stopped himself short. “So tell me Cas,  _is_  this gun still loaded?”

Dean could at least try to ask him something challenging. “Pull the slide back.”

Dean did. A bullet dropped out.

“Not anymore.” Cas replied smugly.

Dean smiled, impressed, and let Cas take the gun back off him. “Good job. That catches way too many people out. We’ll make a criminal out of you yet.”

 

***

Dean tossed five white envelopes onto the middle of the boardroom table as he walked past, shucking his kutte off and then draping it over the back of his chair.

“Help yourselves guys. It’s the money for the deal we did today.”

Everyone reached out for one.

“How much?” Rufus asked, sliding his pay into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“We’ve each got ten.” Dean replied, sitting down heavily. The past few days had felt so long that he wanted to sleep for a good solid year before he even thought about waking up again.

 “So we sold ‘em for sixty?” Bobby asked, grimacing. “Street value on those guns is at least eighty, eighty-five.”

“Yeah, but I did them a discounted deal. We need them as allies right now. In fact we need all the help we can get at the moment to be honest. Lee gave me some info on Pellegrino. He’s quite the ferocious bastard apparently.”

Everybody groaned.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Dean muttered. “Believe me,  _I know_. But he gave me a contact to get in touch with, who may be able to help. Dude by the name of Jackson Rosco? Ring any bells?”

“Yeah!” Garth exclaimed, a little bit  _too_  excitedly. “He’s a good guy; me and Ash had a drinking session with him a while back. Long blond hair, face like a bulldog chewing a wasp.”

Everyone around the table chuckled.

“Well Lee said that he used to work for Pellegrino, but that he split from him recently.” Dean said.

Garth’s brow furrowed. “How recently?”                 

Dean shrugged. “The way Lee said it, probably a couple of months at most.”

“Shit.” Garth banged his fists down on the table.

“What?”

“Well the last time we saw him was about a month before all that shit with the Angels. So he would have been still working with Pellegrino then.”

“Yeah Garth, I think we all got that. I mean, when you said that you and Ash had a drink with him, I didn’t think you meant _after_  Ash had died. Because that would be both potentially unhygienic and a little weird.”

Bobby ignored Dean’s comment. “What did you tell him boy?”

“Well you know how I am when I get drunk…”

“Garth…” Dean said threateningly, all traces of humour gone from his voice. Fact was, they did know how the skinny bastard got when he was drunk and it involved him answering pretty much any question that was asked of him with one hundred per cent honesty.

“I umm, told him about how we had this cool bunker and everything and all about our business partners and stuff…”

“Oh man,” Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me Garth!”

Pandemonium erupted and for once Dean was kind of glad that he wasn't the source. Bobby was shouting at the top of his voice that he was surrounded by idjits, Rufus was threatening to put a bullet in Garth and Sam was busy internally panicking.

Benny – calm as anything – leaned across to Dean, and said lowly, “Looks like this bastard has been interested in us for longer than we fully appreciated.”

 


	6. Chapter Six - The Twist Of Cain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is a Danzig song.
> 
> A Dean-centric chapter this time.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Dean was in the midst of a _very_ nice dream involving Cas, whipped cream and his dick, when he felt someone rudely shaking him awake.

_Can't even get five minutes peace when I'm a-fucking-sleep._

“Dean! Dean, get up!”

“Ngh.” He groaned cerebrally and then twisted away from the noise, flopping onto his front, which considering the boner situation was probably not the best move.

“Dean, Sam’s downstairs. He’s saying something about a fire at err… I don’t know if I’ve got this right… the DBMC place?” He paused, muttering to himself. “Anyway, there’s a _fire_ there. You’ve gotta go.”

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in to his sleep addled brain, but when they did-

“Fuck!” Dean pushed himself up on his forearms and inelegantly climbed out of bed, nearly tripping over his boots that Cas had warned him about leaving in front of the nightstand, in case of this very thing happening.

He didn’t need to look at his boyfriend to know that he was thinking the same thing.

“Don’t even say it Cas.”

Castiel raised his hands in mock surrender, before he swooped down to pick a t-shirt up off the floor. He handed it to Dean. “Wasn’t gonna say a word you grumpy asshole.”

“Dean!” He heard his brother calling from downstairs.

“Yeah yeah, Sammy, I’m coming!”

“Want me to wait up for you?” Cas asked tentatively and Dean suddenly felt like the biggest shithead in the world.

He pulled his jeans on without fastening the button or zipper and walked over to where Cas was standing just in his boxers, arms wrapped around himself protectively, as if he didn’t want Dean looking at his scars. A small jolt of possessiveness ran through him at the thought of his brother seeing Cas like this. “No baby, you go back to sleep.”

Cas smiled gratefully. “Good, ‘cause I was totally gonna do that anyway.”

 

***

 

The fire had been visible from at least a mile away and Dean inwardly despaired. If Lee and the guys were hurt because of something he and the LMC were involved with, he’d have a hard time forgiving himself.

They pulled in to the same place as they had seven hours earlier, except this time, there were bodies _everywhere –_ some under sheets, others not. The firemen were struggling to contain the blaze and Dean’s heart broke when he saw Lee’s partly charred body near the exit of the club house. He’d recognise those tattoos anywhere.

“FUCK!” Dean bellowed, bringing his fist down onto the handlebars of his bike, in lieu of anything better to do. It _had_ to be Nick Pellegrino. There was no chance of it being anyone else.

A fire fighter cautiously approached Dean, Sam and Benny who were straddling their bikes. “I’m sorry guys, but this is still a dangerous site. You can’t be here.”

Sam was about to say something when Dean cut in;

“How many are dead?”

The fire fighter looked awkward, as if he were caught between wanting to tell them and keeping his job.

“We’re friends,” Benny assured. “We just drove all the way from Lawrence because we got made aware of this by a mutual acquaintance. So please, can you tell us?”

‘Mutual acquaintance’ was a clandestine way of saying that all three of them had gotten a text from an unknown number letting them know about the fire. Dean’s phone had been switched off and Sam had slept through the little notification noise. Benny had already been up, though why, he wouldn’t say.

Dean suspected another argument with his wife.

The man glanced between all three of them and then sighed. “It looks like about twenty or so. A couple of ladies in there too. I’m obviously not a doctor, but I can tell you right now that they didn’t die from the fire itself or smoke inhalation. Nothing like that. From what I can gather, they were all shot and then the place was set alight.”

“Jesus,” Sam muttered harshly.

“Thank you,” Benny offered the fire fighter a small grateful smile. “Come on guys, there’s fuck all we can do here.”

***

Dean didn’t want to go home just yet. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, and luckily both Sam and Benny had agreed.

Which was how come they were sitting in Benny’s closed diner at almost five in the morning with only half of the lights on, drinking like they meant business.

“I just don’t get it.” Sam said, picking at the label on his beer. “Why target them?”

“Because we were friends,” Dean shrugged. “Because we were semi-on-the-ball last time he came for us. Because he doesn’t want to kill us, he wants to warn us away from something. Because he’s a fucking nutjob. Take your pick Sammy. I’m growing tired of dealing with psychopaths all the time.” He took a long drink of his beer. “I miss the good old days when all we had to worry about was the law and occasionally, Crowley.”

“We’ll have to have another chat with him,” Benny pointed out, sitting up straight from his slumped position.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, stretching his legs out under the seat opposite. “And that’s always a pleasant experience.”

“The others will want to know about this too.” A thought seemed to creep up on Benny and he slowly turned around to face Dean, who was sitting next to him in the plasticy green booth. “What happens if the cops come a-knocking because they somehow trace the guns back to us?”

“Man,” Sam growled. “Amelia will kill me if I go back inside right after our damn wedding.”

“Yeah, Andrea will probably do worse to me,” Benny agreed with a grimace, looking down at his beer. “Like castrating me first.”

“Cas said that if I went back to jail then he’d consider committing armed robbery just so he could be inside with me.” Dean added casually, too tired and strung out to be able to differentiate between information that should be shared and information that should remain private at all costs.

Sam leaned in closer and Benny looked up.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Sam asked, eyes wide in disbelief. “Tell me you’re fucking joking Dean.”

Dean shrugged casually. “I can’t. Gods honest.”

Benny whistled. “Wow.”

“Before either of you say anything, I’m fully aware that it’s crazy. I’m sure he is too.” He paused, looking at the ashen faces of his brother and best friend. “If it makes you feel any better, I made him promise me not to do it.”

All three of them were quiet for a moment.

“Can I just ask, what is it with you and him Dean? Ever since you met him, you’ve been kinda… well not you, I guess.” Before Dean got a chance to scream or yell, he interjected quickly. “I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad thing, and there have been times when you look genuinely happy – like my wedding – but the rest of the time, I dunno. It’s like you’re both so petrified of losing each other, that you’re anchoring yourselves together and holding on so fucking tight – like _suffocatingly_ tight – no matter what, and you’re both just losing sight of everything else because it’s easier that way. It’s easier than facing reality and dealing with the shit that you two have been through.”

Sam kind of had a point and Dean was just so _bone fucking tired_ of everything right now that he couldn’t muster up the will to argue.

“Yeah, well. Maybe it is. Ever think of that Sammy?”

Benny and Sam exchanged a meaningful look.

“Those bruises on his neck. You did those, right?” Benny asked quietly, as if he were scared that Dean would suddenly shut down again like he did after Ash’s death.

Dean looked into the sincere faces of the two people who were the most important to him before Cas came along. He wondered briefly if they ever felt pushed out. He used to go out for beers with Benny all the time and as Sam was his brother and VP, there was barely an idea in Dean’s mind that he hadn’t run past him at one point or another. Now, any time he wasn’t out on club business or at work, he spent with Cas.

Goddamn, his head hurt.

“Either of you have a cigarette? I’m fucking dying for a smoke. Cas’ll kick my ass, but it’ll be worth it for the nicotine.”

Benny passed him one from his half empty packet and - once Dean had it between his lips - lit it for him too. Dean inhaled deeply, savouring the feeling of the smoke being pulled down into his lungs. _Fuck_ had he missed this.

“Dean?” Benny prompted after a few quiet seconds, during which Dean was simply _enjoying_ something, without over-analysing or having to worry about what it meant. It had been a while.

“Oh yeah. I did that. I put the bruises there. He errr…” Dean smirked at the memory as he tapped the ash off the end of the cigarette. “Got in my face about me being just like his ex and I just kind of snapped.”

“Does he like it when you’re like that with him?” Sam asked, clearly surprised that his older brother was being so forthcoming for a change.

Dean scoffed. “He’s usually the one who instigates it. I think he thinks that it’s hot being so desperately wanted that all I can do is fuck him on the nearest available surface. I guess he wants to prove to me – and maybe himself – that he’s not fragile or some shit, I dunno. I’m sure it’s a lot more complicated than that, but I just starting going along with it and it turns out that I need it as much as – if not more than - he does.”

“Do you guys have-“ Sam’s face was the picture of ‘embarrassed sibling’. “Like, _normal_ sex anymore?”

“Not really,” Dean breathed out the smoke through his words. “There’s always some kind of rough element to it. To be fair, that’s not a new thing. I mean, since we started sleeping together it’s always been wild or aggressive in some way, but after Alistair…”

He cut himself off, sensing that he’d probably said too much.

_Bastards._

That was it. Shop’s closed. He’d been tricked into talking about feelings and shit, and now it was time to go home. He stubbed the cigarette out and gingerly stood; stretching his arms over head, joints cracking. His head was positively swimming from the effects of the nicotine and it was pretty damn awesome. He’d only really experimented with hard drugs when he was in his mid-teens and found them disappointing, but the rush of nicotine?

_Second only to being inside Cas._

Cas was twice as addictive as any substance he’d ever tried. Nicotine and alcohol included.

Dean flashed his brother and friend a quick smile. “I’d better get home anyway. I guess I’ll see you guys in the boardroom in a few hours?”

They both nodded solemnly.

“Try and get some sleep Dean. You look like you’re gonna keel over.” Sam said sagely.

***

It was only when he was half undressed - after several minutes of whispered obscenities, banged shins and stubbed toes in the pitch-fucking-black space of their bedroom - that his boyfriend finally spoke up.

“I’ve heard that light is this magical thing that allows you to see.”

Dean couldn’t help his smile. “Gee thanks Bill Nye. But I was trying not to wake you up.”

“Dean you sound like a fucking elephant tap-dancing. It’s lucky I was already awake. Now get your ass into bed.”

He chuckled and finished pulling his jeans off and crawled under the covers, not stopping until he felt Cas’s warm skin under his fingertips. He lay down on his side, mimicking Cas’s position and draped an arm over his waist, pushing himself closer so that Cas’s back was to his chest.

They were quiet for a few seconds as Dean tried to close off his mind for long enough to get to sleep.

Just as he was drifting off, he heard Cas say in a scratchy voice;

“You stink of smoke.”

He pressed a kiss to the nape of his boyfriend’s neck with a small smile. He thought about lying; about passing it off as the smoke from the fire, but with everything going on, it felt like it would be such a pointless lie.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“I hope it was worth the verbal beat down you‘ll be getting in the morning.”

“Every last cancer-causing drag.”

 

***

 

Explaining about the fire at the DBMC club house had gone over with the rest of the LMC about as well as could be expected, and whilst Dean was unbelievably pissed with the whole situation, Rufus and Bobby seemed to be taking it to a whole new level; one that mainly involved telling Garth over and over again that he had just murdered twenty friends, in different ways, until the poor guy was starting to look like he may burst into tears.

At one point, blows had been exchanged and Dean had had to step in when people were on the verge of bringing guns into the mix. It had been quite the cluster-fuck and so by the time Dean and Sam had got to Crowley’s new place – yet another grim warehouse (And was the guy a total walking cliché?) – he was about ready to stab someone in the eye with an ice-pick if they so much looked at him in the wrong way.

“My favourite pair of mouth-breathers,” Crowley clapped his hands together, meeting them out in the parking lot, stopping a good ten feet away. “How are you holding up Squirrel? Thrown anybody through any windows recently?”

“No,” Dean smiled sardonically, “but if you play your cards right, _you_ could be the next lucky winner.”

“Oooh,” Crowley grinned and backed away marginally. “Tetchy. Time of the month darling? And especially after I helped you out with the whole thing. Lying to the police? Not generally my kind of thing.”

“Listen you cun-”

Sam stepped forward, patting his brother on the shoulder in a way that was probably supposed to be comforting, but mostly just came off as patronising. “Um, Crowley, we just wanted to ask you about Nick Pellegrino.”

The smile was wiped from Crowley’s face, replaced by a blank look that Dean couldn’t read at all. “What is it Moose?”

“We just want to know what you know.”

“Well, beginning with your intelligence levels I’d say that it’s impossible-“

Dean growled. He was having a pretty shit week – to put it mildly – and right now, nothing would make him happier than to shoot something Fergus Crowley shaped. “If you don’t start telling us, then I swear to God, I’m gonna fucking skin you.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows and looked to Sam, gesturing at Dean loosely with his hand. “I’m sure that he never used to be this hot-blooded. Wouldn’t have anything to do with his blue-eyed fella, now would it?”

On instinct, Dean reacted. “You mention Cas again and I’ll-“

Sam turned on his brother irritably, apparently having had enough of Dean’s possessive bullshit. “That’s ENOUGH Dean. Jesus fucking Christ.”

Crowley nodded his approval in Sam’s direction. “Thank you Moose.”

“Oh fuck off Crowley. Just tell us or I’ll let Dean shoot you. Or I’ll do it myself.” It seemed like Sam was finally getting to the same fatigued and pissed off with shit-constantly-going-wrong point that Dean had been at for the past fuck-knows-how-long.

_Welcome to the club Sammy, pull up a chair._

Crowley looked taken aback by Sam’s harsh words. He glanced between the two brothers, seemingly weighing up the serious expressions on the Winchester’s faces versus something else in his head, and appeared to make an executive decision.

“Fine,” He sighed, dejectedly. “But you’re not gonna like it.”

“Try us.” Dean deadpanned.

“Okay, well you’ve gotta promise not to kill me.”

“I am making no such promise.”

“Dean,” Sam said impatiently, silently willing his older brother to cooperate. Dean rolled his eyes and nodded. “Okay. We won’t kill you.”

Crowley exhaled a heavy, relieved breath. “Okay. Well, old Nicky is quite the persuasive bastard as you may have heard.”

“It has come up, yeah.” Dean mumbled sourly, reminded of poor Lee again. Goddammit, why was it always the nice guys? Why couldn’t it be Crowley or the Pellegrino asshole himself?

“He made me an offer I literally couldn’t refuse. Didn’t you two numpties ever wonder how I knew about the Angels? Come on, it must have crossed your minds.”

In all honesty, it actually hadn’t. Dean just figured that as a business associate, Crowley was privy to that information. It completely eluded him that the LMC had also been associates in the same way, but yet they were kept in the dark. He’d never given it much thought.

“Get to the point, Crowley.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Crowley rolled his eyes in a ‘why-am-I-not-surprised’ way. “Just when I start to think you’re more than a pretty face, you prove me wrong again Squirrel. At least you’ve got your looks, eh?”

“Crowley,” Sam warned.

“Alright, alright.” He held up his hand. “Lucifer was the one who told me all about the Angels plan. He and Zachariah go way back apparently. Second cousins once removed or some such bollocks. Anyway, I was neck-deep in shit with them when he told me who they were. I tried blackmailing them by saying that I was gonna tell you two, but they refused. So I told you two and the rest – as they say – is history.”

“That’s wonderful Crowley,” Dean threw him a caustic smile. “Really. But can we save the ‘This Is Your Life’ crap for when I _haven’t_ got twenty of my friends killed because of this bastard?!”

“Oh right. Well in return, I got immunity. From Pellegrino’s lot anyway.” He muttered bitterly. “All I had to do was to send you two off to Pellegrino with some drugs. He never said why. It was just an arrangement we made. And like I said to you two on the day, I keep my promises. To people like him anyway.”

There was a split second of confused silence whilst Dean processed what he’d just heard, before he was yanking his gun out and aiming it at Crowley.

“So,” Dean was impressed with his own calm-sounding voice, belying the white-hot rage currently coursing through his body all the way to his tingling fingertips, itching to pull the trigger on the bastard. “What you’re telling us is that you sold us out? You made a deal with someone nicknamed _El Diablo_ so that he could get to meet us - for whatever reason - and potentially kills us? You sent us off to this guy when our families were in danger knowing that we might not make it back to tell them about what was happening?”

“Well when you put it like that...”

Dean shot a bullet into the ground just left of Crowley’s feet, and the man jumped away as if he’d been struck himself.

 “Moose!” Crowley cried feebly. “Help me out here. You promised me that you wouldn’t shoot me!”

“Nooooo,” Sam grinned. “I promised you that we wouldn’t kill you. And look you’re still alive!”

Dean moved his aim to Crowley’s groin. “More’s the pity. Doesn’t mean that I can’t make you _wish_ you were dead though. Technically not breaking our promise, right Sammy?”

His brother grinned back, baring teeth. “You are in fact, correct Dean.”

“No! No wait, I can help you out. I can maybe find you a way in.”

Dean lowered his gun slightly. “Thought you said that you weren’t going out on play dates with him anymore?”

Crowley’s sickeningly smug expression came back. Dean wanted to bounce his face off every available surface until it was just bloody mush. “Come on Squirrel, what do you take me for? As if Pellegrino would have just let me _walk_ away from him.”

“So you lied to us?”

“Well to _you_ , Rocky, yeah.”

Dean finally lost the small amount of composure that he’d managed to muster. “God fucking dammit Crowley! Good men are dead because of your bullshit.”

“Self-preservation, Dean.” He shrugged. “What else can I do? You guys are the ones holding the gun to my nads, so right now I’m helping you. I thought you were well aware of my venal leanings.”

A second realisation eclipsed the first one and Dean advanced on Crowley, waving his gun as he gesticulated wildly.

“Did you set us up with those guns too? Did those fucking guns come from Pellegrino?" At Crowley's guilty look, Dean threw his arms up in the air, completely lost. "Oh my fucking God! They did, didn’t they?”

It all clicked into place; how Pellegrino’s men knew exactly how to find them and more importantly how they managed to find the DBMC – the guns. The wooden crate that the guns were in more precisely, because who would think to check in there for some kind of fucking tracker?

“Sorry boys, he had me over a barrel.” The asshole didn’t sound sorry at all.

“Sorry?" Dean spluttered. "You’re fucking sorry? They were at my fucking house Crowley! They could have got me, they could have got Cas!”

“I told you it was bad.” Crowley spread his hands in a ‘meh, what are you gonna do’ gesture.

“What can you do for us?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. “You said you can maybe get us an in?”

“Just give me a couple of days to work it out and I’ll let you know.”

“Yeah, but then I won’t be ‘holding a gun to your nads’ so why would you be inclined to help us?” Dean wouldn't make the same mistake of believing this asshole again.

“Because Pellegrino is a total prick and I want nothing more than to take over his piece of the pie. If you two help me to do this, then I’ll help you in any way I can. I know it sounds cheap now, but I will stick to my promise.”

Dean scoffed. “Or I could just shoot you now, save us the bother of dealing with you ever again.”

“You could.” Crowley agreed.

Dean hesitated. He really didn’t want to deal with him ever again, but if it was a means to an end...

He needed a plan.

“Crowley. Bring me one of your guys.”

The man looked at him as if he were trying to figure out where the fuck _that_ had come from.

“Quickly,” Dean shooed him away and eventually Crowley turned and wandered inside to get one of his goons, muttering under his breath about crazy squirrels.

As soon as he was out of sight, he turned to his brother, slipping the colt back under his waistband. “Sam. You got a spare gun on you?”

It was his brother’s turn to look at Dean as if he were crazy. “Err, yeah.”

Dean held out his hand and gestured for Sam to give it to him. With a disbelieving look, Sam smacked it into his palm. Dean ejected the magazine and checked the chamber. One bullet. He tucked the magazine into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

“Dean what are you-“

Dean put a finger to his lips. “Shush Sammy, just trust me. You got any gloves or anything on you?”

“Err, yeah. My riding gloves. Back on my bike.” He gestured behind him. “Why?”

“Go get them. Give me one and you take the other.”

Sam returned with one glove in his back pocket, surreptitiously stuffing the other up Dean's left sleeve at his request. An instant later, Crowley returned with a big bodybuilder type.

Dean flashed his friendliest smile at the behemoth, who could probably crush Dean’s skull without blinking. “What’s your name, man?”

The goon looked to his boss, silently asking permission and Crowley nodded, his brow furrowed, trying to work out what Dean was planning.

It felt good to be the smart one for a damn change.

“Brian.”

“Hi Brian.” He began rubbing the gun on the fabric of his t-shirt. “I’m Dean. You got a wife… kids?”

“Girlfriend.” He replied, looking as confused as the other two men.

“Ah. Cool.” Dean replied, finishing up and pointing the gun at Brian’s chest. He pulled the trigger and the body slumped to the floor, a few gurgling sounds escaping him as he choked on his own blood. Dean quickly slid the glove on and wiped his prints off the trigger and grip  whilst Crowley was distracted by his henchman bleeding out on the gravel.

“What the fuck Squirrel!” He finally looked at Dean.

“Think fast Crowley!” Dean tossed him the gun, which Crowley fumbled with, but caught.

Dean went for his revolver again and held it up to Crowley who was looking down at the weapon in his hands with complete and utter confusion.

“What the fuck? What the Hell did you do that for?”

“Sammy,” Dean said firmly, not taking his eyes off Crowley. “Take a picture of Crowley for me with your swish phone. Make sure you get Brian in the shot.”

A few seconds later he heard the click of the camera shutter.

“Now would you please rid Mr Crowley of the gun?”

Sam seemed to _finally_ twig then, and he pulled his leather glove out of his back pocket, slipping it on as he made his way over to Crowley, who abruptly aimed the gun in Sammy’s face.

_Surprise, surprise. The backstabbing bastard tries to backstab us. Shocker._

“That was a stupid idea, now wasn’t it Dean? I see what you were going for; frame me for murder of one of my own men? Shame that you threw me a loaded gun!”

Dean reached inside his pocket with a big grin and Crowley’s whole prevailing stance wilted when he saw the magazine in Dean's hand. Sam grabbed the firearm from him with his gloved hand.

“We’ll be keeping this somewhere safe as insurance against you Crowley. You have 24 hours to come up with a decent plan and if we find out that you’ve told Pellegrino about this,” He gestured between himself and Crowley with his revolver, “Or fail to come up with a plan we feel is suitable, then the gun goes to the police and you get to go inside. Understood?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, sounding utterly defeated. It was music to Dean's ears. “I hear you loud and clear.”

Dean winked and didn’t even try to stop the cocky smirk that spread across his features. “More than just a pretty face, eh Crowley?”

 

 


	7. Chapter Seven - Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is an Aerosmith song; if you don't know it, then give it a shot, it's a beautiful song.
> 
>  
> 
> So this chapter is 90% sexytimes. Also, the bulk of it is from a joint perspective for a change.
> 
> Thank you to all the wonderful people commenting!

“So what now?” Bobby asked, looking to the others for answers. The bruising around his eye was just turning a beautiful shade of purple and Garth had a matching one. Despite his age, the old guy could still throw a decent damn punch.

“We wait for Crowley. We have the fête the day after tomorrow – which we desperately need right now – I’ve told him twenty four hours and he still has twenty one, so let’s give him a shot.” Dean replied, slightly bored. The panic that had ensued when he and Sam had returned was teenage-girl-boy-band-frenzy levels and it had taken a round into the ceiling to get everyone to shut the fuck up.

“What about the unknown number? Do you think it was Pellegrino?” Rufus asked, looking slightly out of his depth. Dean knew how the poor bastard felt.

He scoffed. “As if it could be anyone else. I would be wondering how he got our numbers, but it wouldn’t have been hard. Crowley already has mine and Sammy’s and really, it wouldn’t have been difficult to get a hold of Benny’s.”

They’d been through all of the why’s and how’s involving Pellegrino and the DBMC/themselves. There were varying theories, though Dean was sticking with his knee-jerk analysis, which was that the dude was a psychopath who just wanted to watch the world burn. And they were always the most dangerous. Unpredictable and therefore damn near impossible to defend against. Though Dean was under no illusion that the asshole wouldn’t leave it long before his next strike, he needed five minutes to himself to think. The last week had been crazy and his brain was tired of replaying every moment.

“Anyway boys,” He pushed his chair away from the table and got to his feet. “We could all do with some downtime I think. It’s gonna get pretty hectic soon, so go home and spend the afternoon with people you love.” He didn’t dare add an addendum in case he was tempting fate to kick him in the balls, ‘cause the way she was going right now? No way that the bitch wouldn’t take _that_ opportunity.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow.” He mock-saluted and practically ran out of the boardroom – just as the others were standing up – so that none of them got the chance to hound him about something Pellegrino-related.

Cas was working an early shift today, so he’d be home in about half an hour; Perfect timing. Since his conversation with Sam and Benny in the diner, Dean’s mind had been spooling through ideas of how to make amends with Cas and he was pretty sure that he had a great idea of where to start.

***

“What are you doing?”

Cas was stretched out completely unclothed on their bed. He strained at the ropes binding his arms to the headboard as if to test the strength of the knots. They creaked a little, but held.

The first time that they did something that involved being bound or tied down, Dean had been fearful that it would send Cas into some kind of flashback to his experience with Alistair, but surprisingly, Cas had gone crazy for it.

The promise of wild, kinky sex had been a dirty, underhanded tactic for Dean to employ now, but it was the only way in a million years that he would get Cas in a position where he could do this without him being able to fight it or run away.

“Something we haven’t tried before.” Dean replied from his position near the end of the bed, staring down at Cas, a little out of breath. And hard.

Castiel licked his lips, raking his gaze over his gorgeous, equally naked boyfriend, taking in the sight of lean muscle and tattooed skin. “We’ve done _this_ before, Dean.”

Dean moved around the bed and knelt beside Castiel’s shoulder, blue tie in hand. The smaller man raised his head off the pillow to allow his boyfriend to knot the make-shift blindfold behind his head, and then Castiel felt the mattress shift as Dean’s weight was removed.

Dean stepped back to admire his work. Cas was beautiful. Scars or not, He would never find him to be anything other than perfect.

“Not like this, baby.”

Minutes passed. Castiel tried to focus on keeping his breathing steady, but he could only think about where Dean was; why he wasn’t touching him yet.

He felt the mattress dip again – this time at the foot of the bed, between his ankles – and then there were two calloused hands leisurely, but purposefully, running up his legs and gently easing them apart, so Dean could move between them.

Castiel gasped a few moments later when he felt warm lips on his stomach, around the place where he knew his biggest scar to be – the one that was half-way between purple and silver and stretched across his abdomen, from between the middle lines of his tattoo, right across to just above his belly button. Dean pulled his mouth away a fraction, though Cas could still feel his hot breath skating over his skin. “I never asked you what your tattoo meant.”

“It’s in Latin,” His breath hitched when Dean dipped his tongue into his belly button. The haphazard sensations were beginning to mess with his head and he had to will himself to concentrate and not just give in. “It’s from the Divine Comedy. Translates as, ‘Long is the way, and hard, that out of Hell leads up to the light.’ I got it done after my mom died in my freshman year at college. It was difficult; I was really close to her.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully. Castiel felt his breath ghost downwards, towards his hard dick and he let out a whine when Dean stopped just shy of the place he desperately needed to be touched right now.

“Tell me about her.”

“Really?” Castiel squirmed breathlessly, silently willing his tease of a boyfriend to put his damn mouth on him already. “Is _now_ the best time for this?”

Dean pulled away completely, removing contact from all points of Cas’s body and sat back on his heels, still between Cas’s legs, but not moving a muscle. He remained silent whilst he watched Cas straining to hear, to try and decipher what he was going to do next.

After a few tense seconds, Dean reached out and ran his thumb across the head of Cas’s cock, smearing pre-come around the slit.

“Fuck!” Cas squealed, wrists jerking against the binds. Dean removed his hand and waited another few moments, before repeating the action.

“Jesus Christ, okay!”

Castiel panted heavily, screwing his eyes shut and taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “Her name was Sarah and she had gorgeous dark hair and striking blue eyes-“

“Like you,” Dean murmured reverently, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the inside of Cas’s thigh.

Castiel faltered, he’d never really thought of it like that. His mom had always been this beautiful woman who was so far removed from how he thought of his own looks that it had never really occurred to him. “I guess so. And she was so kind to everyone. She was a doctor. She volunteered at the soup kitchens, but still always had time for her kids. My dad died when I was four, so I don’t really remember him, but people tell me he was a good man; a military man. She raised us herself and never really recovered from my dad’s death. Never so much as dated again.”

“How did she die?” Dean asked, mouthing at Cas’s hipbone, relishing the low groan torn from his boyfriend’s throat.

“Uh…Car accident. And it was a _complete_ accident, so I couldn’t even be mad at the other driver. They just kind of lost control.”

“I’m sorry baby.”

“It’s okay; it was a long time ago.”

The bed shifted again and Castiel was left high and dry once more. He heard a movement to his right, and inclined his head that way on instinct, though it was completely pointless with the tie over his eyes; there wasn’t even a sliver of light coming through.

He flinched when he felt a warm palm against his cheek, but then relaxed into the touch, allowing Dean to cup his face in his hands and pull Cas into a slow, hot kiss. They didn’t make out as often as they should and Dean intended to rectify it as soon as possible, because kissing Cas was awesome. His lips – whilst definitely well suited for blow jobs – were _perfect_ for kissing.

He pulled away, looking down at his boyfriend, kind of wishing that the blindfold wasn’t in the way so that he could see his beautiful blue eyes. “I love you Cas, I really do.” He moved one hand up to card his fingers through Cas’s hair – which was already slightly damp with sweat – in a ridiculously tender gesture that seemed to surprise Cas more than Dean.

It made Dean feel guilty. Had he never ever done anything like this for him before?  Never just taken care of him like Cas had done for Dean after Ash’s death? Because really, that had been the turning point as far as Dean was concerned. The point at which he knew that he loved Cas for fucking _real_ and that he could never be without him. Had he seriously never done anything even remotely similar to that for the man he professed to love?

Even partially covered by the blindfold, Dean could see Cas’s brow furrow momentarily as if he was trying to fathom out where Dean was going with this, before he replied.  “I love you too Dean.”

Dean snatched the small bottle of lube off the nightstand and resumed his place between Cas’s legs, squeezing out some of the stuff onto his fingers.

Castiel wriggled beneath him, impatient to know where the next touch was coming from, moving his hips in a desperate attempt get some friction or _anything_ against his hard-on.

He let out a feeble needy whimper when Dean traced slippery chilly fingers down over his perineum to his entrance and then Dean was pushing one lube-slicked finger slowly and carefully inside Cas, running his tongue along the skin of his hipbone again. “I’m going to make love to you Cas. I’m not gonna fuck you like you don’t mean anything to me; I’m going to break you apart and put you back together right like I should have done six months ago.” The words were breathed out across the wet patch of skin, making Castiel shiver.

And Dean meant it; He should have been there properly for Cas, rather than just being passive and hoping that Cas was getting better by taking it out on him. He should have stopped him, held him, kissed him, made love to him and showed him with his lips and hands that he was wanted. That he had never been more beautiful to Dean. And not just aesthetically – though that would never stop being true – but because he’d never given up, he’d never stopped fighting Alistair.

Castiel mewled quietly when Dean slowly added another finger, his whole body reacting; tensing at the sensation. Dean kept mouthing kisses all over his hips and thighs so tenderly that Cas thought he was going to explode with how deliberate and gentle Dean was being. He didn’t need this; Dean treating him like he was something precious, because he wasn’t. He was damaged and imperfect. Always had been really, but the Alistair situation had just compounded it. He hadn’t been good enough for Balthazar in the bedroom, but that was a mistake he was trying not to repeat with Dean.

“I know what you’re thinking baby,” Dean’s voice was nothing more than a heavy whisper, his breathing slightly uneven, smoothing a hand reverentially down Cas’s ribs. “But you’re wrong. You’re so fucking wrong, and it kills me how you see yourself.”

Castiel sucked in a trembling breath as Dean crooked his fingers just right, brushing against the bundle of nerves, and he arched his back a little, inviting Dean to stop messing about and just fuck him already.

“We’re going to start _talking_ our shit through Cas. Because at this rate, we’re going to end up consuming each other and I don’t want that. I want us to be a partnership. I want this to be forever Cas, because I love you and I’m not going to lose you because of some sick bastard. You are worth so much more than that.”

Cas swallowed hard, trying to listen to Dean’s words, to bask in the warmth and love that was prevalent in Dean’s voice, but it was proving rather difficult with Dean’s fingers inside him, rubbing and loosening him up. It felt good in a completely different way from their usual rough sex; he always felt wanted then, but not necessarily loved. Right now, he felt both. In abundance.

Castiel was at a complete loss for words; something that didn’t happen too often and Dean was almost dizzy with happiness that he’d been the one to render his boyfriend speechless.

Dean slipped his fingers out of Cas's body and the smaller man held his breath when heard the cap on the lube being flicked open and then closed again. The sound of Dean’s quiet moan as he slicked himself up was one that would stay with Castiel forever. Almost as good as his laugh. _Almost._

Dean leaned forward and kissed Cas passionately as he lined himself up and pushed into Cas’s slick hole, making sure to go even slower when Cas’s legs encircled his waist and dug his heels into Dean’s ass, trying to push him in quicker, to get him to fuck Cas harder and faster as was per their usual experience.

Dean didn’t want that. He wanted to take his time to appreciate the slick heat currently surrounding him; the way Cas’s chest was slightly flushed and his breathing ragged. He’d barely paid attention to any of it before, usually too preoccupied with getting off to notice.

Dean rolled his hips experimentally and Castiel let out a low groan. He pulled out slowly – almost all the way out – taking pleasure in the tight clench of Cas’s muscles, before thrusting in again, watching Cas carefully for his reaction, trying to decipher the nuances in his expressions and storing the information away for future use.

Each one of Dean’s thrusts were slow but hard, gradually building in pace and strength, driving them both closer to the edge. Castiel _had_ to see him; he needed to look into those vibrant green eyes when he listened to his words that were already threatening to fracture his carefully crafted hard exterior.

“Dean,” Castiel groaned, frantically tugging on his restraints. “Dean untie me, I need to see you, I need to touch you.”

Dean stilled, but stayed inside his boyfriend, reaching across to the headboard and quickly unknotted one rope and then the other. Castiel hurriedly yanked the blindfold off, throwing it away and he looked up at Dean with something akin to awe in his eyes. He wound his arms around Dean’s neck and fused their mouths together in a searing kiss. “I fucking love you Dean Winchester.”

“I fucking love you too Castiel Novak.” He leaned his forehead against Cas’s, savouring the feeling of being inside Cas’s mind and body as he pressed soft kisses to Cas’s cheeks, chin and mouth, not really caring where they landed, as long as they _were_ landing. He rocked forward again gently, slowly regaining the pace, making Cas cry out against his lips. “I meant what I said the other night in the Roadhouse y’know.”

“Huh?” Cas’s eyes flew open. This close, they were such a bright blue that it took Dean a few seconds get back on his train of thought. How had he never noticed that before? He’d always thought that they were a sky blue, but right now they were more cerulean.

“About you being mine. You are, nobody else is allowed to have you; not your ex and definitely not Alistair. They’re never gonna take you away from me Cas.”

Castiel could feel the hot sting of tears welling at the backs of his eyes. “Dean-“

“You are worth so much more than that. You are worth absolutely _everything_. There isn’t a damn thing that I wouldn’t give up for you.”

The prodigious feeling that swept over him was indescribable; Dean didn’t just want him _despite_ his flaws. He loved and wanted him _because_ of them. He wasn’t willing to _overlook_ them. He saw them just fine and _embraced_ them, because he loved Cas, all of him. The realisation nearly floored him.

It was another limit of his that Dean was pushing at; was breaking. Just in an entirely new way. And holy shit if that wasn’t some orgasm-inducing stuff right there.

He clawed at Dean’s back desperately, feeling the heat pooling in his groin, quickly scorching him from the inside out. “Dean I’m-“

“Cas baby, Let it go, let it _all_ go it’s okay, it’s okay...” Dean whispered Cas’s own words back at him, screwing his eyes shut, holding back his own release. This was about Cas and he’d be damned if he was going to ruin it by coming first.

Castiel came then, his back arched prettily and Dean felt awed and privileged to be able to watch what had to be one of the most jaw-droppingly beautiful things he’d ever seen.

A couple more thrusts and Dean was coming himself, much less elegantly, almost collapsing on top of Cas, but catching and bracing himself on his forearms, pressing breathless kisses to any part of Cas’s skin that he could get his lips on, as they both waited for cerebral functionality to fully return.

Dean quickly moved off him, rolling to his left, chest heaving as he turned to look at Cas whose eyes were still wet with tears. He clasped their hands together and tugged until Cas got the hint and gingerly scooted across the bed, laying his head on Dean’s shoulder, interlacing their fingers on his chest.

With his free hand, Dean softly ran his fingertips over the black ink under the skin of Cas’s inner forearm; the beautiful greyscale silhouetted angel wings that started at about three inches wide in the crease of his elbow and tapered down to a finish five inches further down. Dean’s own version was a couple of inches wider and it stretched all the way to his wrist. Cas had been the one with the design and Dean had gone along with it to make his boyfriend happy, but as soon as it was inked onto his skin, it instantly became his favourite tattoo. He was so proud of it, just like he was proud of Castiel.

Dean shifted a little, pulling back so he could look his boyfriend in the eyes as he said the words that he so clearly needed to say, though he hoped that his previous actions would speak louder than his words ever could. “I didn’t think that I would ever fall in love again Cas, but you did it. You made me give a shit about you right from the jump and now I would be truly lost without you. So please let me help you.”

He raised their joined hands and pressed a firm kiss to Cas’s knuckles. “We can heal each other rather than hurting one another. We can have the best of both worlds baby. We can have our awesome crazy sex and we can have this too. I want both. I want _you_. And not the you that you think I want; the hardass with the smart mouth – though yeah, I’d be lying if I said that you busting my balls isn’t totally hot – but I love all sides of you Cas; all facets. Your insecure side, your grumpy side, your can’t-cook-for-shit-side-”

Cas let out a strangled tear-infused laugh.

“-Your tender-when-you-think-I’m-not-paying-attention side. And I want you to be all of those things with complete and utter abandon, because it’s who _you_ are. And I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life before.”

“Fucking Hell Dean.” Cas murmured, feeling so thoroughly wrung out that he wasn’t even sure what year it was anymore. He was still trembling a little and his mind was just utterly blank; anything that he said right now would either come out wrong or he wouldn’t be able to do the way he was feeling justice.

Instead, he tried their normal route. Humour.

“You’d better be ready for retaliation, Winchester. ‘Cause it’ll be coming when you least expect it.”

Dean’s laughter rumbled through Cas’s body. “’Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.’ Right?”

Castiel grinned. “’Our chief weapon is surprise… surprise and fear… fear and surprise…’”

“I certainly surprised you.” Dean semi-gloated, looking down at Cas’s still flushed face. He was pleased. Pleased and _fucking relieved_ that it hadn’t gone the other way; that he had been able to break through to his boyfriend, make him realise just how important he was. He planned on doing it every day until Castiel believed him and even then he wouldn’t stop. He would be happy to do it for the rest of his life.

“Yeah,” Cas’s eyes were all dewy with tears again when he spoke a few moments later. “You did Dean. In more ways than one.”


	8. Chapter Eight - Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is an Avenged Sevenfold song.
> 
> Love to everyone who reads and comments/kudos's/bookmarks. Thank you.

Dean was so _fucking_ tired. Crowley was due to phone in about five hours and he couldn’t have been less enthusiastic about it. He was tempted to just say ‘fuck it’ and go back to bed and not wake up until it was time for sex or food. Or both together.

_Fuck yes._

On the up side, he actually had an empty house – which was so rare, that when it happened, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Cas had been keeping the place pretty damn spotless since he’d moved in - and that in and of itself was amazing; his desk at the library always had a million and one things on it; permanently untidy – therefore it meant that tidying or cleaning was off the cards – though _as if_ Dean would have actually done it, even if the dishes were piled high. He was more of the ‘fuck-it-I’ll-just-buy-more-and-throw-the-dirty-ones-away’ mentality.

So that left him with not very much to do. The meeting earlier this morning had been about as constructive as the one last night, and as a result, hadn’t lasted very long. Everyone was still on edge and probably would be until the English asshole came through with his plan.

He switched the TV on and dropped down onto his couch with a bored-sounding sigh. Cas’s explicit instructions issued in his usual gravelly tone had been for Dean not to just sit around in his sweatpants all day, staring blankly at daytime TV shows, but Cas wasn’t here right now, so to Hell with it.

He was about five minutes into some talk show when his phoned beeped on the coffee table with a text. Well, that peace hadn’t lasted long. He snatched it off the table and clicked on the message.

**From: Unknown.**

**Your precious angel is at Hern Farm.**

**Come alone or he dies.**

***

Castiel loved the little sandwich shop on the corner of Main Street; they did the best meatball subs that he had _ever_ tasted; lots of cheese and the sauce was just _perfect_. In fact, as he was finalising his pile of books for the Halloween fête tomorrow – which he was strangely looking forward to – his stomach rumbled at the mere idea of a delicious meaty sandwich, so he quickly dropped the last book into the box and gave a cursory glance around, making sure that there were no lurkers between the stacks. The place was deserted, so he grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and slipped it on as he turned off the lights and locked up the library. He was entitled to an hour lunch, but he rarely took longer than the time to eat his sandwich. Unless Dean stopped by.

God, _Dean_. Cas was still a bit wobbly after last night. Dean had completely defied all his expectations, and as Cas crossed the road, keeping an eye out for cars, he felt his lips spreading into a coy smirk. Last night had been something he wouldn’t have thought he’d needed and – though he was by no means totally fixed – it definitely felt like progress was made. His mind was a lot clearer and he felt pretty content right now; like he had things to look forward to finally and things were actually going to get better. It was emancipating.

Him being in his own happy haze of pleasure as the police car pulled up alongside him would be his main reason for not immediately paying attention when it stopped and a cop that he’d seen before –  but was sure that wasn’t on the LMC payroll –  got out.

“Sir!”

Castiel jumped; completely unaware that he’d been kind of daydreaming like a lovesick teenager. “Yes?”

The man’s heavy brow creased and Castiel took a second to appreciate this representative of the law; his uniform had buttons missing and it looked like it needed a damn good wash and he was quite overweight with greasy black hair. 

_Comforting._

“We’ve had reports of someone acting suspiciously in this area. Potential drug deals. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Castiel frowned, puzzled. He was well aware that Dean and the LMC did their best to keep Lawrence drug free, so it seemed a little strange that people would be doing it so blatantly out in the open.

“No. I’ve not seen anything, but if I do, I’ll be sure to call 911.” He flashed his nicest smile and began to walk away, but the police officer was having none of it, instead meeting Castiel on the sidewalk and crowding uncomfortably into his space, chests almost touching. He smelled of cheese-its and sweat. Not a pleasant combination.

Cas backed up a few paces, trying not to let the displeasure show on his face. Thankfully, the cop didn’t follow.

“Or maybe it’s _you_. It’s Novak right? You’re taking it up the ass for that Winchester prick?”

Castiel recoiled as if he’d been slapped.  He wasn’t even sure which part of that sentence he was angry with the most.

_What the fuck?_

“Dean Winchester is my partner, yes.” He replied cautiously, not liking where this was headed.

“Excellent.” Before Castiel even had a chance to blink, the asshole was reaching into Cas's outer jacket pocket and proudly pulling out what looked like a small baggie of marijuana, pinched between his chubby fingers.

_Holy shit._

“What?” Castiel blurted in total astonishment. This _so_ could not be happening. “That isn’t mine!” He was well aware of the stereotype of wronged criminal that he was playing, but didn’t care; it really wasn’t his. He hadn’t even smoked tobacco since he’d given up months ago.

The cop grinned widely. “Sure it isn’t. Because I just put it in your pocket, right?”

Castiel had to exercise extraordinary restraint to not just punch the slimeball. “That’s exactly what you fucking did.”

“Ooh language Mr Novak. Now, here come the cuffs, which I’m sure you’ll love, because by all accounts you’re quite the kinky bastard.”

***

“Please surrender any belongings you have about your person. Cell phone, keys, wallet; that sort of thing.” The bored sounding police officer produced a translucent box and banged it down on the pine counter. At this point, Cas was very thankful that his gun was secreted under the seat of his bike and that the arresting officer – Officer Prick as he’d taken to calling him – was so concerned with bringing him down to the station that he was too lazy to search anywhere else. But of course that would have meant that he was a proper officer of the law, not some asshole who was framing Cas for whatever reason.

Castiel clenched his jaw. This was fucking ridiculous.

“Come on,” Once he was divested of his worldly possessions, Officer Prick pushed him in the centre of his lower back, forcing him forwards down the corridor like some kind of livestock behind herded to the slaughterhouse, and once again, he found the desire to smush the guys smug face against something solid almost too good to resist. “Interview room.”

He was pushed down into the chair by a heavy hand on his shoulder and then left alone with his own thoughts for a few moments. It was obvious that someone was trying to frame him. But to what end? It was a misdemeanour – his first. At the most, he suspected he’d probably get a fine. It would go onto his record, but it was hardly something to get delicate about.

He smiled to himself when he remembered how panicked he would have been if something like this had happened 7 months ago. Then again, would something like this have happened back then? He’d never had any kind of brush with the law before Dean. Not that he minded now, because y’know.

_Worth it._

The door softly clicked open and the arresting officer walked in, holding it open for the Sheriff behind him. Her uniform was an interesting contrast and compare to his; everything sparkled and she clearly took the time to press her slacks, which Dean would no doubt find an hilarious, alien concept.

“Mr Castiel Novak?” She had a kind, pretty face. Her eyes had a haunted look about them though; as if she’d seen one too many a horrific thing. He knew what that felt like.

“Yes.” Castiel replied as easily and courteously as he could. Maybe if he cooperated he could be out of here in a few hours. He didn’t want Dean to be freaking out, which he would almost definitely be doing if he got wind of his arrest. Images of Dean storming the police station flooded through his mind, and unsurprisingly they were all kind of hot.

“So we have you in on a Grade A Misdemeanour possession charge for Marijuana.”

He inclined his head slowly, not meeting Officer Prick’s eyes.

“This is your first offence, right?”

He bit his tongue at the reply he wanted to give; he wanted to tell her that no, it wasn’t his first because he wasn’t actually guilty, but he refrained. He just wanted to get out of here and if that meant going along with it, then so be it.

“Yes.”

“And you only had a small amount,” She murmured to herself, sitting down at the opposite side of the table, straight-backed and ankles crossed underneath her chair. “Tell me Mr Novak, what’s a nice librarian with no priors doing hanging around with the likes of Dean Winchester?”

Castiel smirked. “Can’t help who we fall in love with Sheriff.”

“No, I suppose not.” She muttered ruefully. Castiel sensed some kind of back story there, but it’s not like he was in any position to be asking. “Those bruises around your neck…”

Shit, he’d actually forgotten all about them; they were faint now – faded browns rather than vivid purples – but still there.

_Goddammit._

“How’d you get those?” She asked, clearly already jumping to conclusions in her mind. He supposed it was easier for her to reconcile an outlaw with being heinous human being over a decent one – as Dean was. Probably helped her to sleep better at night.

“Is this related to the drugs charge? Because if not, I’m pretty sure that I don’t have to answer.”

She held up her hands in surrender, as if to say ‘well I tried’. “You’re right. But you know that we can help you if he’s laid a hand on you, Mr Novak.”

Castiel leaned forward across the table and on instinct; she did a little, too. “I don’t know why people seem to assume that because Dean Winchester served time for crimes committed years ago that he’s also an abusive spouse.” He was careful not to say that the man was also _currently_ involved in committing crimes, for obvious reasons. “What is it about him that makes you uncomfortable Sheriff? Is it because you love to hate him? Because I’m sure if you _really_ wanted to, you could get rid of the LMC permanently. Or is it because they actually do more good than bad around here?”

Sheriff Mills looked more than a little surprised by Cas’s response. He loved that he still got reactions like that; people still expected him to be all meek and accepting of their bullshit.

“I thought so.” He murmured to himself and sat back in his chair, smile in place, satisfied.

She quickly regained her composure, trying another route. “Mr Novak, you could be in quite serious trouble here.”

“For what?” He scoffed, all niceties having gone out of the window the second she accused Dean of being anything other than the kind-hearted man that he was. “For apparently being in possession of some shitty drug that this state is probably going to legalise soon anyway? I don’t know how much was in there, but I doubt it was enough to get a fucking hamster high.”

She frowned. “Mr Novak, what are you trying to say?”

He paused for a second, wondering whether to just come out and say it or not. “Nothing,” He sighed, defeated. “I’m not saying anything.”

“I was referring to your allegiance with the LMC. You wouldn’t be the first citizen prosecuted for association.”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s bullshit. I don’t know anything about what the LMC does beside ride around on their motorcycles in their spare time, because y’know, they all actually _work_ for a living. As do I.”

“Oh, that’s cute.” She looked amused.

His patience – which had already been paper thin – was close to gone. “Listen. What Dean and his friends do is none of my business, so if you’ve pulled me in on this bogus drug charge just to get me to talk, well then I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree. I don’t know fuck all.” He knew that he sounded especially angry when he added. “Dean doesn’t tell me anything about the Club.”

She and Officer Prick exchanged a look. “You keep alluding to this being a false arrest, Mr Novak? Would you like a lawyer?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Just do what you have to so I can go home.”

***

Cas wasn’t answering his damned phone; it was just ringing 3 times and then cutting out like it was switched off. He’d gotten Sammy to swing by the library and check to see if Cas was there. He wasn’t, but his bike still was. Cas himself was nowhere to be seen.

Which could mean only one heart-stopping thing.

The text was genuine and that sick fucker had Cas.

Dean could feel bile rising in his throat and the panic was slowly seeping its way through his body; starting at his spine and oozing along his veins. They’d just been starting to make things right, dammit, Cas was on the road to recovery and now this?

It had taken a good twenty minutes to get to the place. It was a huge old red farmhouse; the kind that probably housed cows or horses at one point, but now it looked dilapidated. He slung his leg over the rear of his bike as soon as he cut the engine - not even bothering with the kickstand, letting his bike fall over in the gravel - and was running towards the building before he’d even had a chance to form any kind of plan. It was insanely stupid and risky, but all his brain could process was the constant litany of, _SaveCasSaveCasSaveCas._

He yanked open the little side door and then he was plunged into darkness when it clamoured shut behind him. 

“Cas?” He paused for a moment, holding his breath until his lungs burned, listening for any kind of indication of Cas’s whereabouts.

There was nothing. Nothing whatsoever.

_Please, for fuck's sake let him be okay._

He fumbled to pull his phone out of his jeans pocket and checked that there were no missed texts or calls, before facing the screen outwards so he had some form of light, however weak it may be.

As he scanned every inch of the floor space, it became increasingly obvious that there was nothing inside the barn; just cobwebs and dust. But then as he neared one of the support beams, he noticed something tacked to it. He squinted to see as he got closer.

It was a photo of him on the sidewalk outside the smashed window of Floyds, arm drawn back in preparation of a punch to Balthazar’s already bloodied face, with Cas just appearing into view, his face completely panic-stricken.

He plucked it off the beam and flipped it over. The letters printed on the back were bold and looked like they were written with a black marker:

**CHECKMATE.**

_What the actual fuck?_

His phone rang in his hand, causing him to start violently and nearly drop it. Glancing at the screen, Dean swore he felt his heart stop. It was Cas’s number on the caller ID.

“Hello?” He answered cautiously, having absolutely no clue what to expect. What the fuck was going on?

“Dean, it’s me.” Cas. He sounded more pissed off than scared or frightened.

Dean internally breathed a sigh of relief. Cas was alive. However, it didn’t mean that he was safe. “Cas baby, where are you?”

“I’m okay Dean, I’ve been at the Police station all afternoon.”

_What?_

“What?”

Castiel sighed heavily down the phone, sounding so thoroughly _done_ that Dean had to supress a smile. “Yeah, a bogus possession charge. Dickwad police officer pulled me in as I was walking across to the Sub shop.”

“You’ve been with the Police this whole time?” He asked - completely redundantly - but he was having trouble switching gears from ‘Cas is in mortal danger’ to ‘Cas is – and always was – absolutely fine’.

“Yeah, I mean I would have called, but they took my phone off me, and-“ He cut himself off at Dean’s shaky inhale. “Why? What’s wrong? Where are you?”

_Fucking Pellegrino._

He stuffed the picture into the inside pocket of his jacket, and began making his way out of the barn in the direction he was sure that he’d just come from. “I’ll explain when I get back. Cas, I need you at the table with me tonight. Things are about to get bad and I’m not risking leaving you in the dark anymore.”

 

***

“So,” Dean shrugged helplessly, hoping against hope that Cas wouldn’t freak out. Though it was a dismal one at best; his boyfriend looked _furious_. “That’s about the long and short of it, Cas.” All eyes turned to Castiel – who was sitting at the boardroom table in the space Ash used to occupy – waiting keenly for his reaction.

To his credit, he started off calmly, clearing his throat and rising from the chair, palms flat on the table, as if he were debating on the school team. “You’ve been dealing with all this by yourself? You couldn’t have mentioned any of this earlier so that I could have at least shared some of the burden? Like we’re supposed to be doing? Like a damned ‘partnership’?”

Dean inwardly winced as Cas’s hands balled into fists against the table. This was going to end badly. Like potential broken nose badly.

“You didn’t tell me that friends of yours died in that fire, Dean! All that shit you were spouting off last night? Did it mean anything, because you can’t even talk to me about this shit? God, you are so fucking infuriating!” He slammed his fist down on the table so hard that it must have hurt, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

Dean tried his least patronising tone. “Cas, please calm down.”

“I will not! You stupid fucking asshole!” Cas kicked at the table leg. “I am so fucking tired of you keeping me in the dark; do you not learn? This is how I ended up with my fucking stomach cut open last time!”

Dean flinched; Cas was right. And it fucking hurt.

Then Cas’s expression changed again as he seemed to be working something out in his head. Dean braced himself, making an educated guess as to what his boyfriend was realising. “This is why you let me start carrying wasn’t it?” At Dean’s guilty silence, he kicked the chair away, sending it skidding across the hard floor. “I fucking knew it! When are you going to fucking learn Dean? When are you going to stop being such a dumb asshole and realise that there are people around you who rely on you for 100% disclosure! Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Cas, I-“

His boyfriend ran a hand through his hair and held up the other one to indicate that Dean should stop talking right-the-fuck-now. “I need to leave otherwise I’m gonna fucking shoot you or something.”

The only sounds for the next few seconds were Cas’s boots on the metal stairs and then the creak and thump of the bunker door being opened then shut.

Dean dropped his head into his hands. One step forward, two steps back.

_Fuck._

“Jesus Christ boy. What the fuck happened to you two?”

“Alistair happened, Bobby.”

Garth let out a low whistle. “I knew he had a bit of a temper, but that was some next level shit right there. I haven’t seen anger like that..." He paused, with a teasing grin on his face. "...well since Bobby.”

The old man shot him a look that would curdle milk. Garth just glared back.

There was a brief awkward silence as people shifted uncomfortably in their seats, probably trying to think of some way to ease the situation.

“I thought you were making progress?” Sam asked tentatively.

“We are.” Dean lifted his head up and looked into the concerned hazel-y eyes of his brother. “That was him holding back. He’s right. I should have told him. I’ve been saying about how we need to talk more and it hadn’t crossed my mind that I’d actually have to reciprocate.”

“Shouldn’t you go after him?”

Normally, Dean wouldn’t; he’d let Cas stick it out and try to deal with it in his own mind. But that was where they’d been going wrong and he _really_ was trying to make amends. “Yeah. Yeah, I should Sammy.”

 

***

“Cas?” Dean cautiously poked his head around the bedroom door, being extra wary because Castiel had a gun and _really_ wasn’t afraid to use it.

His boyfriend was sitting in the middle of their bed, knees drawn up to his chest, chin resting on them. He looked remarkably calm compared to the wild way in which he’d stormed out of the Club House. “Hey,” He said softly, looking extremely remorseful, his eyes deep and doleful. “I’m sorry I went a bit crazy back there.”

Dean baulked. What? This wasn’t usually how it went. He was expecting things to be thrown, valuables to be broken. He was definitely _not_ anticipating an apology. “It was justified.” He moved into the room fully, only half sure that Cas wasn’t lulling him into a false sense of security and was actually going to kick him in the balls any second now.

Castiel shrugged lightly. “Maybe, but not really. I should have been able to control myself a little better.”

“This whole healing thing,” Dean waved his hand in a vague gesture. “It isn’t going to happen overnight y’know. After last night, you were never going to just wake up and magically know what to do with all the crap floating around in your mind. It was just supposed to be a starting point. You know, like starting with love as the foundation and working our way up.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean. “Have you been watching Oprah or some shit?”

Dean chuckled, glad that although there may have been a slight stumbling block, it wasn’t as bad as he’d initially feared.  More like two steps forward and one step back instead of the other way around. “It may have been on in the background earlier.”

Cas held out his arms in an invitation of hugs, which Dean would never be able to refuse. “Come here you stupid, lovable asshole.”

Dean crawled across the bed and together they lay down on their sides, face to face, legs wrapped around each other, completely intertwined. Dean kissed Cas’s nose.

“I’m sorry baby, really. I promise that I will tell you everything from now on.”

“Pinkie swear?” Cas said holding his hand in a fist with his little finger sticking up. At Dean’s hesitation, he added, “Come on Winchester, you’re only as good as your pinkie swear.”

Dean grinned, but linked his finger with Cas’s. “And all those times you insisted that you weren’t a child. Look at you now.”

“Careful,” He warned, playfully slapping Dean’s arm. “I may be calmer, but don’t underestimate me.”

“I’d never do that.” Dean said, totally seriously. As if he ever could, knowing how strong Cas was. “So, come on baby. Give me your opinion on everything that’s going on.”

Cas’s eyes flicked up from their still joined fingers to Dean’s face. “You want to know what I think?”

“Yeah,” Dean reached up and reverently pushed a strand of hair out of Cas’s eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

“I think he’s screwing around with you Dean, flexing his muscles. Showing you what he’s capable of.”

“Yeah, but you getting arrested? It’s gotta be more than a coincidence right?”

“Definitely. But it was such an insignificant crime. If they’d wanted me out of the way for good, they could have planted some heroin or something on me. It seemed like it was just those few hours.”

Dean hummed. “Yeah. And at the exact same time I was running around looking for you. I don’t believe he did it just to put the fear of God in me that you were missing.”

“I have a record now.” Cas murmured aimlessly, more to himself. “I was charged with possession and given a fine, but it’s on there.”

Dean struggled to think about why Pellegrino would have gone to all that trouble. It was fairly common knowledge that Cas was his weak spot. It wasn’t privileged information. But to pay off a police officer to frame him for something that would end up with him walking away a few hours later just didn’t make sense. And then there was that damned photograph. What was he trying to say with that? That he was always watching him? Because that was becoming blindingly obvious.

After the fête, he’d be demanding that all families moved into the bunker again, just until they could get this sorted.

Dean met his boyfriend’s eyes. They looked as worried as Dean was feeling. “His endgame is so much bigger than simply fucking with us Cas. I just know it.”


	9. Chapter Nine - Wanted Dead Or Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a Bon Jovi song.
> 
> So, this is the last chapter for this fic!
> 
> I am going to be writing the third and final installment for the series in the next few days and hopefully I'll be able to keep the same update speed!  
> A sincere thank you to everyone who has given me any kind of feedback on this, whether it's been Kudos or bookmarks, but especially comments. 
> 
> Thank you. Thank you.

 

“Boys,” Crowley spread his arms wide as if he was greeting relatives rather than the people who would quite happily turn him in if he failed to deliver. Unlike their previous few visits, this time Crowley was flanked by two big guys and Dean felt a sense of Déjà vu hailing back to their experiences with him just before the Angels.

Dean motioned at the goons with his revolver. “Nobody brings guys of that size unless they’re trying to say something without actually saying it.”

Crowley managed to look astounded and almost like he was hard done by, all-in-one. Like he was somehow the victim in all of this. “Can you blame me? Yesterday you shot one of my best men. Excuse me if I’m a little nervous around you now.”

“Well, you’ll pardon _us_ for the distrust here as well then Crowley, because after all, you have fucked us over so many times, it’s a wonder we’re not chafing.”

Crowley laughed; the sound loud and echoing off the walls of the warehouse.

“Well Squirrel, I’m sure that once you hear what I have to say you’ll be whistling a different tune.”

“Yeahuh,” Dean was unconvinced. “Come on then, impress us. The floor is yours.” He gestured dramatically around them. “Let’s hear it.”

Crowley’s gaze shifted nervously between the two brothers, evidently not sure how well his ‘plan’ was going to be received. It was not a reassuring start.  “Right, well. Obviously Nicky dearest knows well who you and all your crew are. Is there any way you can get someone to go covert ops or something? Someone who you trust, but someone not tied to the club in any way? I can find an in for whoever decides to go. Can make it seem like I’m giving him a good man in exchange for some fake information on you lot.”

Dean wasn’t especially impressed, not to mention disappointed. It was a weak plan, at best. This was from the same guy who had them fooled for all this time? “Okay Crowley, so let’s just suppose for one second that your plan isn’t total horseshit.  Why would Pellegrino just accept a random henchman off you?”

Crowley smirked. It was his usual smarmy expression that Dean had come to associate with the asshole about to launch into some massive brag or boast, “He trusts me. I’ve never betrayed him.” He added with a small head nod, “Up until this moment anyway.”

Dean rolled his eyes derisively. “I certainly feel better that the douche is apparently as gullible as us, how about you Sammy?”

Sam pensively nodded, looking like he was considering something. “Come on Crowley, you have to admit that’s pretty crap, even for you.”

Crowley drew back slightly, acting every inch the scandalised middle-aged woman at an opera. “How it that crap? Why would it need to be overly complicated? How does an elaborate plan beat a basic one? I don’t get where you boys are coming from.”

“We agree. Basic is best. But crap is crap.”

“And this is crap.” Sam added with a quick tight smile.

Crowley’s shoulders slumped. “So, what else do you suggest? Come on Squirrel, you’re apparently the master at trickery. You damn well tell me.”

“I’m not risking one of my men.” Dean said resolutely, because just _no._ “However, I am willing to risk you.”

“What?”

Dean sighed. “You said yourself that you’re in with Pellegrino. He’d trust you and then you could bring information back to us. Betraying him. You know, like you’re doing now. Only properly.”

“Firstly, that idea is ridiculous, secondly – from your point of view at least – what would stop me from telling him everything?”

“Well, we thought about that too. You told us that you wanted his piece of the pie right? So we’ll help you to do that. We’ll call a truce. Help each other out, then at the end we agree to walk away and _stay_ _the fuck away_ from one another.”

There was a few minutes where the only sound was a soft hum coming from Crowley, as he seemed to consider the offer before he smirked slyly again. He crossed the room and stuck his hand out for Dean to shake, then Sam.

“Better the Devil you know, right boys?”

***

The fête was amazing. Held on the wide open green space of the park, it was clearly something that the whole town participated in. He’d found out the hard way that the baking competition was a serious rival for Dean’s affections (‘Cas, look at all the pies! Ohmygod, they have pecan and apple and I _need_ this one in my life!‘); The Halloween costume competition was something fun for all levels of ability and there was a five year old that had won her category with a bumblebee costume, which was infinitely adorable. It was the arts and crafts one that caught Cas’s attention though. Maybe next year he’d try his hand at it; he used to enjoy being creative at school, so it would be nice to get back into a hobby that didn’t involve Dean in some form.

Speaking of, Dean and the guys were absolutely in their element and it was heart-warming to see. Sam was so good with the kids that he was currently reading The Hungry Caterpillar to. They were all totally enraptured by the tale and even though Sam had to keep stopping every few minutes to answer some silly question about the suspect amount of food the caterpillar was eating, his serene smile never slipped.

Garth was painting a child’s face green in preparation of being ‘the most badass Zombie ever!’ and it was surprising to see that he was quite the artist. The kids seemed to adore him and – his quite frankly, bizarre sock puppet – Mr Fizzles, responding with raucous laughter whenever he was brought out between painting faces to lure more customers in.

The usually gruff Bobby was further on down the field where the races were taking place, lots of orange cones dotted about and white lines taped onto the grass. Rufus was sitting at a nearby table signing parents and kids up for the daft events that were Bobby’s brainchild. Dean had already regaled Cas with stories of years that he’d been roped in to joining the various activities and how much he had sucked at them; especially the egg and spoon race.

He’d never seen the side of Lawrence that adored Dean before, but it was a joy to behold. Needless to say it was largely made up of women from the PTA and the like, who probably enjoyed the fantasy of a bad-boy biker – not like Cas could judge – but ultimately, Dean was (and always had been) a total flirt and so he had his dazzling smile and easy laugh ready for anyone who stopped him to ask about various donations or what they could expect from the fireworks tonight.

Of course there were a fair few who eyed him, and the others, with guarded suspicion, but luckily they stayed out of their way and people only seemed to be saying positive things about their presence. It was pretty damned nice.

Cas was browsing one of the candy stalls, try to decide between a humongous bag of candy corn or tootsie rolls, when two rough hands slipped over his eyes, obscuring his vision. 

“Guess who?”

As if it would be anyone else. Castiel smiled. “Hello Dean.”

“Hey baby.” Dean dropped his hands down and wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist, drawing him closer against his hard body. Castiel went willingly, because well, who wouldn’t?

“Are you having to make a difficult decision between candies?”

Castiel nodded, sticking his bottom lip out in a mock-pout. He wished their life could be like this all the time. Dean was so relaxed and happy. It was almost as if they were a normal couple. “Yeah, what do you think?”

Dean pretended to contemplate his answer, but ended up using the opportunity to suck a hickey onto the skin above Cas’s shirt collar, making the smaller man squirm in his arms. “Dean! We’re in public, show some decorum for fuck’s sake.”

Dean stilled behind him, his breath catching in his throat. “God I love it when you use fancy words in the same sentence as curses. It’s hot. Fancy a quickie behind the candy apple stall?”

Castiel laughed. “God you’re such a horny bastard.” He lightly slapped the arms tightly wound around his abdomen. “Behave.”

“Only around you babe.”

Castiel felt a thick, syrupy heat spreading throughout his body, warming him to the bones. Despite everything that was going on behind the scenes at the moment, this here, right now? It was just absolute perfection. When things went to shit again, this would be his happy place, like their day at the Harley dealership or the time at the museum.

“I should think so,” He chastised, trying not to sound too jealous of the women that had been fawning over his boyfriend all day. “So what candy should I get?”

“Get both.” Of course Dean would suggest that.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“It’s why you asked me isn’t it, wifey? Letting the big strong man of the household make the executive decisions so that you don’t have to?”

He turned around in his boyfriend’s arms, Dean was grinning at him, expression cheerful and open. “You are going to get a knee to the crotch if you carry on.”

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Oooh, promise?”

Castiel snorted a laugh. Goddammit.

“Dean?” A beautiful lady with a stunning smile and sleek dark hair was standing to the right of them, a boy of about ten or eleven in front of her almost like a shield.

Dean separated himself from Cas. “Lisa. Hey Ben.” He flashed them both a genuine smile and gave a small wave to the kid, who threw himself at Dean and wrapped arms around his legs, only letting go when he was distracted by Garth’s shout of; ‘Ben, my main man!’

_This is Lisa? Holy shit._

As she watched Ben take off to get his face painted, Lisa gave a little embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, I think he’s kind of missed you.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and looked up at Dean demurely through her eyelashes before adding, “We both have.”

_Oh._

 “This is Cas,” Dean blurted, yanking him forward by the sleeve of his jacket, like a pre-schooler showing off their first crush, rather than an outlaw who had killed people. “My boyfriend.” It was clumsy and awkward, but about ten kinds of adorable that Dean was instantly introducing Castiel without having to be prompted or reminded. There was definitely a reward in Dean’s future.

“Oh,” Her face seemed to fall for a moment, before she regained herself and then the beaming smile was back in place. “Hi Cas, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too Lisa.” He was the picture of politeness despite that inside he was doing a little victory dance, deliriously happy that _Dean was his. Not hers._ Because he was graceful about these kinds of things.

“Have you been together long?” She asked, clearly uncomfortable, but trying to be polite.

“A while.” Dean smiled kindly, apparently sensing her discomfort. “We live together.”

This time she didn’t hide her surprised and disappointed look. “Oh right. Well, I’m pleased for you.”

“Thanks Lis. I hope things are working out for you too.”

“Yeah,” She looked around her. “Are things are okay with the Club?”

Dean frowned. “You hated the Club Lisa, why are you asking?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. It was supposed to be a nonchalant gesture, but it mostly came off as someone who clearly gave a shit, _trying_ _to come off as nonchalant_. Castiel got it, he really did; Dean was magnetic. He was a flame that people were instantly captivated and enthralled by, but the ones who got too close usually ended up getting burned, so maybe they’d go away for a bit, try to heal, but ultimately they’d always try again. His pull was just too strong to resist. And even though the Club was part of Dean – and it was sometimes pretty horrific – Cas was getting the distinct impression that if Dean were still single Lisa would have been trying to get closer to that enigmatic flame again.

_That’s some deep psychobabble bullshit right there._

“The Club is fine.”

She turned to Cas then and leaned in as if about to share a secret with an old friend. “Does he keep you in the dark too? It used to drive me nuts!” He applauded her attempt to include him in the conversation by doing the typical ‘Oh does he _still_ do that? Oh that Dean, he’ll never change!’ ex-to-current-partner bonding thing people did for some reason, but he had no intentions of participating. Fact was, Dean had changed – granted most of it was relatively recent – and so Cas felt rightfully smug when he replied.

“No, he’s told me everything.” It’s not like it was a lie. He didn’t need to add, ‘last night’.

“Oh. Wow.” Her double-take would have been funny if the hurt in her eyes wasn’t evident. He instantly felt for her. Dean hadn’t told him about the particulars of their break-up, but he suspected that it hadn’t been something that she’d wanted, rather, more a case of something she’d needed to do for her own sanity.

“Well, I’d best go and check on Ben. Make sure Garth isn’t doing anything too crazy.” She made vague motions in the direction that her child had run off in.

“Sure,” Dean nodded, expression impassive. “Nice to see you again Lisa.”

She smiled at Castiel who returned the gesture and then she was gone, off in search of Ben.

Dean exhaled heavily. “Awkward.”

“Mhm,” Castiel murmured non-committally, pushing his face into the leather of Dean’s jacket. It was starting to become a bit of a habitual comfort thing now. “I’m not the only one at this fête who’s in love with you.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then he sighed. “You got that impression too, huh?”

“Well, I’m not blind, so that kind of helped.”

He could hear the smirk in Dean’s voice. “Maybe I should go after her? We could try a threesome?”

Castiel reluctantly pulled himself away to look up at his boyfriend. “You’d better be joking Winchester, ‘cause-“

He was cut off when Dean caught his lips in a sweet tender kiss that very quickly evolved into something hotter and heavier, until Cas had to pull away; he was getting hard and it _really_ wasn’t appropriate with all the children around.

Dean seemed completely unfazed as he licked his plump bottom lip. “Come with me baby.” He grabbed Cas's wrist and began pulling him past the stalls and through the crowds, towards the restroom at the edge of the park.

“Dean,” He warned, but with no real weight behind it, because he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want this as much as his boyfriend.

They banged into the pleasant-considering-it-was-a-public-convenience restroom and Dean virtually shoved him into one of the cubicles, following close behind and locking the door. He was on Cas straight away, kissing him urgently, pressing their bodies close together.

His hands were busy undoing Cas’s belt and within seconds his pants and boxers were around his ankles and Dean had dropped to his knees on the tiled floor, and then before Castiel had a chance to process _literally_ anything about this situation, Dean’s hot mouth was on him, swallowing him down like Cas was the best thing he’d ever tasted. The feeling of that wet heat suddenly surrounding him was too much; too intoxicating and Cas had to focus on his breathing so he didn’t pass out.

“Oh Dean, _fuck_.” He reached down and fisted his hand in Dean’s hair, tugging hard and _oh fuck yes_ , he was so glad that he’d gotten Dean to grow it out, because the man actually growled around his cock, sending vibrations along the nerve endings that made Cas moan loudly.

Castiel chanced a glance down, knowing full well that the sight of Dean Winchester on his knees for him with Cas’s cock halfway down his throat may potentially kill him, but when Dean locked eyes with Cas and winked, that was pretty much it.

“Dean, Dean fuck, Oh God, _oh fuck_ , I’m gonna-“

Rather than pulling away, Dean pressed closer until the head of Cas’s cock hit the back of his throat again and he swallowed, once, twice, and then Castiel was coming, nails scraping over Dean’s scalp so hard that it had to hurt, but it didn’t matter right then, because _JesusfuckingChristDean’smouth._

Dean pulled off him as Cas sought to catch his breath, chest heaving, brain totally fried, resting his weight against the cubicle wall. Dean rose up from the floor and Cas grabbed his gorgeous man by the lapels of his biker jacket and pulled him in, crushing their mouths together, enjoying the taste of himself on Dean’s tongue as they kissed lazily.

 _Hotdamn_ , he would never _ever_ get enough of this man.

***

The fireworks were absolutely stunning and Cas getting to see them away from everyone else was so much better that he’d thought it would be. Though,of course, that could be because he was watching them with Dean. It was all done electronically; Dean had pre-programmed them so all he had to do was flip a switch and then stand back. So they were sitting on the bench a few metres away, Dean’s arm secured around his waist, Cas’s head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, watching the beautiful smatterings of colour in the sky.

It was such a wonderful end to a truly fantastic day; he was almost dreading getting back to normal tomorrow, but for now, he was content to just stay like this; cuddled up with Dean and despite the chilliness of the October night, he didn’t feel the cold – it was just warmth, right down to his very core. It was like something out of a Hallmark card.

“Dean Winchester?”

Both he and Cas turned around, shifting in their seats; It was the Sheriff with two cops behind her, their faces set in grim lines.

Dean sighed. Really? Was this not getting to harassment levels now? He stood up, gesturing for Cas to stay seated, but he refused to let go of Dean’s hand.

“You know who I am. What do you want?”

Sheriff Mills stepped forward with a pair of cuffs in her hand. “Turn around Mr Winchester.”

He cocked an eyebrow, but did as he was told, releasing Cas who looked like his world was tipping up on its axis.

She cuffed one wrist behind his back and as she started on the other, she began to recite in a level voice:

“Dean Winchester, we have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Balthazar Milton. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can – and will – be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense. Do you understand?”

Oh yeah, Dean understood. He fucking understood perfectly.

_Fuck._


End file.
